


Even Heroes (have the right to dream)

by Hyeyu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Drama, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Oikawa is not Lois Lane, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 17:09:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11628057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyeyu/pseuds/Hyeyu
Summary: Squinting, the brunet pauses on the last step of the stairs, rubbing at his eyes to ensure he’s not seeing things. The sight remains - a man seemingly carved out of rock stands in front of the wall of postboxes, a laughably small canvas bag slung around his shoulder as blocky hands carefully slots envelopes into the various boxes. The figure towers imposingly, looking for all the world like an animated sculpture of one of the Western knights bards sing of in old Arthurian legends.The superhero - it could only be a superhero, with that kind of appearance - looks up as Oikawa approaches. “Sorry. Almost done.” His voice is the scrape of gravel against granite.Oikawa Tooru, ace reporter of the superhero beat of Asahi Shimbun, hates superheroes. Or maybe he just hasn't met the knight one yet.





	Even Heroes (have the right to dream)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tenowls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenowls/gifts).



> Happy Iwaoi Exchange, Mona! ₍₍ ◝(●˙꒳˙●)◜ ₎₎ Your prompt looked so intriguing, I couldn't help but snap it up. This was supposed to be a nice, short fic, but as you can see, it kind of ran away from me...I hope this is nevertheless along the lines of what you were hoping for when you first wrote your prompt down!
> 
> One day, I will write a longfic that doesn't involve secret identities of some kind. I swear I didn't even notice until I was halfway in. (:L)
> 
> Title comes from 'Superman' by Five for Fighting.

Oikawa formally meets Gra-Knight when the latter delivers the post to his apartment complex.

Squinting, the brunet pauses on the last step of the stairs, rubbing at his eyes to ensure he’s not seeing things. The sight remains - a man seemingly carved out of rock stands in front of the wall of postboxes, a laughably small canvas bag slung around his shoulder as blocky hands carefully slots envelopes into the various boxes. The figure towers imposingly, looking for all the world like an animated sculpture of one of the Western knights bards sing of in old Arthurian legends.

The superhero - it could only be a superhero, with that kind of appearance - looks up as Oikawa approaches. “Sorry. Almost done.” His voice is the scrape of gravel against granite. Oikawa shrugs, yawning as he tugs his coat tighter around himself.

“I can wait.” He watches, sleepiness replaced by shrewd curiosity as he observes the superhero continue to do his work. Appearance aside, there isn’t anything spectacular about his actions; he looks at the addresses on each envelope before pushing them into their corresponding mailboxes. It’s methodical and efficient.

Superheroes actually carrying out the community service allocated to them by the Japanese Superhero Union are a rarity though. Oikawa should know - he’s written a lengthy article about it for Asahi Shimbun, criticizing the entitlement of today’s superheroes. Oh yes, the superheroes assigned to the various districts did (occasionally) manage to do their job and protect the citizens from metahuman threats and more mundane crimes. But the collateral damage of their battles are more massive than not, turning large sections of city areas into mangled ruins that costs both time and money to restore.

The Japanese Superhero Union’s peace offering of assigning their registered superheroes various types of community service to aid in the repair efforts is a noble one, Oikawa had written acerbically, if the heroes themselves had been human enough to possess the decency to actually carry them out. But then again, he supposed they weren’t exactly human - perhaps it is a bit much to expect them to have human manners.

The article had caused an uproar, the way Oikawa had planned, spurring online and television debates over the issue. Depressingly, despite the press, it hadn’t improved superheroic motivation regarding community work. Then again, Oikawa hadn’t expected it to.

Yet here is a superhero, almost too large for the apartment block’s modest doorway, sorting out mail.

“You new to town?”

The superhero’s craggy shoulder plates grind as he turns his head to look at Oikawa. Beneath the helmet is a forgettably generic face, features composed of lines chipped into stone. “How do you know?”

“I’d have met you at least once if you’ve been around longer than a week.”

“Ah.” The superhero merely nods and turns back to his work. Oikawa frowns, feeling oddly dismissed.

“Guess you must have pulled the short straw if they got you of all superheroes handling the mail.”

“Guess so.” The reply is bland and even. “I’m done. You can check your mail now. Have a good day.”

The journalist watches as the superhero ducks, his head narrowly missing the arch of the doorway. Then, “Oikawa. That’s my name. Might want to remember it, Rock-man,” he elaborates as the rock-man looks back at him. The superhero rumbles something that sounded suspiciously like a grunt.

“Have a good day, Oikawa-san.” The boulders grind as stone legs make their way down the small path to the main entryway. He’s gone by the time Oikawa decides that the man’s greeting had been more curt than polite.

\---

“Hey, Suga-chan,” Oikawa asks later in the office, leaning back in his seat as he flips through a backdated copy of the company’s newspaper, “you covered the new superheroes report last week, right?”

Sugawara’s fair head pops up above the divider between their cubicles. “Mmm hmm, that was me. Why, what’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just ran into a new hero in my area - the guy’s actually doing the JSU community work, believe it or not.”

“Oh, knight who looks like he’s made out of rock, right?” At Oikawa’s nod, Sugawara hums, tapping a finger on his chin. “Lemme see - what was his name again, Grand-something...Grey? Gimme a moment.” The head disappears, and the sounds of Sugawara’s keyboard clack through the background buzz of activity. “New arrivals, new arrivals… ah! Here we go - Gra-Knight, that’s the one. He’s a transfer from Miyagi. Pretty decent superhero with a solid body of work, but he’s only handled small incidents so far.”

“Hmm, small-town guy. Maybe that’s how he got tricked into performing community service.” Oikawa frowns absent-mindedly as he taps the name into his tablet, scanning through the top results that his browser returns. “That, or he’s just trying to build cred points. Poor sucker.”

Sugawara sighs, but it’s more amused than exasperated. “You know, maybe he’s just a genuinely good guy.”

“Ah, Refreshing-chan, if we could all be as idealistic like you, it would be a wonderful world indeed.”

“I haven’t imbibed enough coffee to deal with your cynicism, Oikawa.”

“It’s not cynicism if it’s the truth. And the truth is that there are very few genuinely good guys, Suga-chan.”

‘One day,” Sugawara sings out, waggling a finger over the divider, “one day, someone will prove you wrong. Just you wait.”

“Oh, I’ll wait, alright. But it’s going to be a waste of time.”

“If you have that much time to wait around,” a dry voice comes from behind Oikawa, and he spins his chair around in time for Sawamura to drop a bunch of file folders into his lap. “Irihata-sensei wanted that profile on Battoman last week.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Oikawa sticks his tongue out at Sawamura. “I’m working on it, geez.”

“That’s what you said two days ago.”

“Yeah, well, you get the bad guys to stop terrorizing the city, and I’ll meet my deadlines quicker. Sounds like a deal?”

“Stop bullying Daichi, Oikawa,” Sugawara chastises, but it’s good-humored, the other reporter beaming at the editor as Sawamura shoots him a grateful smile.

“Oh, double-teaming me now, I see how it is.” Pulling out his reading glasses, Oikawa starts leafing through the top-most file, spreading its contents over his desk. “I’ll have the profile on your desk by the end of the week, Dai-chan. There, happy?”

“Thank you.”

Oikawa doesn’t hear the wry acknowledgement, is already deaf to the conversation in Sugawara’s cubicle as keen eyes start scanning over the scattered records. For all his playful flippancy, the journalist takes his job extremely seriously. Oikawa Tooru’s name is notorious in media circles for good reason; the sardonic punch of his articles doesn’t reduce the fact that their weight is backed by irrefutable research and meticulously-sourced evidence. Nor does it remove the insightful analysis and observations that comprise most of his opinion columns. ‘Unfortunate is the person upon whom Oikawa Tooru’s eyes rests’, a superhero once remarked bitterly; it’s a statement the reporter wears with blatant pride.

The infamy he’s built off his body of work ensures he gets priority in covering the superhuman-related news and incidents that occur around Tokyo, but it’s not easy staying abreast of events. Keeping track of superheroic actions (and superhuman misdemeanors) can be time-consuming, eating into normal working hours and holidays. It’s also riskier than one might expect, and while Oikawa is better equipped for the task than the standard journalist, he’s aware of the danger he puts himself into when he goes out into the field.

It’s worth every minute of sleep wasted and danger risked though when Oikawa scrolls through online forums to see the public’s response to various superhero actions (and misdemeanors), perceiving their superheroes as simply augmented humans rather than gods, and holding them accountable for their actions.

Nonetheless, it takes time and a lot of research to compile superhero profiles, much less thorough ones. The takeaway bento he picked up from Lawson sits cooling on his living room table as Oikawa meticulously sorts through the files Sawamura had passed to him, comparing them with his own collected data. He doesn’t expect to sleep before 2 a.m., but if he’s quick, he might finish a rough first-draft in time to grab at least four hours of sleep before he’s due back at the office.

It’s a tiring job, working the superhero beat at Asahi Shimbun. But Oikawa wouldn’t have it any other way.

\---

“Huh.” Oikawa frowns at Gra-Knight. “You’re still doing the mail.”

“I’ve got this route for the next two weeks,” Gra-Knight says implacably, even as he sorts through the post as carefully as the day before. Large stone fingers barely crease the envelopes, even as they pinch themselves together around their edges gingerly. It’s almost annoying, watching how much care the superhero’s putting into the menial task.

“I don’t get it.” Oikawa says, the fatigue of an all-nighter blunting his usual lightly-mocking lilt into something brusquer. “Your reputation is small, but good. And I’ll just tell you now: I don’t intend to waste my time reporting on some small-town superhero ‘doing his part to help the community’ through menial postal work.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” Gra-Knight looks at the address printed on a small parcel, before slotting it into one of the mailboxes in the topmost row.

“So what do you stand to gain from,” Oikawa gestures at the incongruous mailbag, “this?”

“I accidentally uprooted a tree and broke a couple of pavement slates last month.”

“So? Other heroes have done worse.”

As sleepy as the journalist is, he doesn’t miss the way Gra-Knight’s shoulders straighten minutely. The aggravation doesn’t betray itself in the gruff scrape of his voice though. “I’m not other heroes.”

“Obviously not,” Oikawa agrees, the annoyance reluctantly giving way to curiosity. The jibe about how different the rock-man could possibly be from every other superhero stays unvoiced - no use antagonizing the new guy further at the moment, not when there’s nothing to be gained from it. Gra-Knight seems to share the same thought, and the day’s mail sorting passes in a awkward silence.

Oikawa stays leaning against the wall long after Gra-Knight leaves, only moving out of the way with a distracted apology when one of the neighbours comes down the stairs towards her mailbox, still blinking sleep out of her eyes.

She frowns as she pulls out the assorted letters. “Ch’, they’re crumpled again. Honestly, the postman needs to be more careful with handling the mail.”

“He’s doing his best,” Oikawa says absent-mindedly, then starts as he realizes what he’s said. He nods at his surprised neighbour before going back up to his place to inhale two mugs of coffee and get ready to leave for the early train.

\---

Oikawa doesn’t look up when a shadow falls over the report he’s reading. “Stop blocking the light, Ushiwaka.”

“You haven’t eaten lunch.” Ushijima sounds vaguely disapproving. “Normal people can’t function well without suitable sustenance.”

“I’m not ‘normal people’,” Oikawa scowls at the onigiri placed on the edge of his table. “Your memory isn’t that bad, or perhaps I’ve given you too much credit, _Terrastorm_?”  

Ushijima doesn’t react to the hissed name of his other identity. “No, but you’ve been eating convenience-store dinners for the past two nights, and those are not the healthiest of meal options.”

Oikawa jerks at that, finally lifting his glare to Ushijima, who looks as unflappable as always. “Who told you?”

“You did, by confirming my guess.” The other reporter tilts his head curiously, ignoring Oikawa’s irate swear words. “Have you really been that loaded with work? I haven’t been receiving too many assignments in the crime beat, and both that and yours often go hand in hand-”

“Ushijima, yo.” Kuroo’s lazy drawl carries easily over the background hum of computer systems and low chatter. “Think I heard the boss-man calling for you five minutes ago. Something about a fact error in last night’s mugging story?”

Ushijima frowns at that. “That’s not possible. I was thorough in rechecking that article.”

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger; I tell it as I hear it.”

“I’ll go sort it out. And Oikawa,” Ushijima gestures meaningfully at the onigiri before he leaves, “Eat.”

Kuroo snatches up the onigiri before Oikawa could swipe it into the trash, the photographer making an approving noise. “Ooh, unagi, good stuff. Mind if I take this?”

“Be my guest. I make no promises that Ushiwaka hasn’t poisoned it.”

“The man’s too straight-laced to even consider doing that.” Kuroo eyes Oikawa appraisingly. “He does have a point though. I could hear your stomach rumble all the way from the other side of the office. Lunch?”

“I…” Oikawa heaves a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Sure, why the hell not. Let me just save this.”

“Sure. Hey, Suga, what’s up?”

As Kuroo chats amiably with his cubicle neighbour, Oikawa types out a couple more sentences before pulling his glasses off to massage the bridge of his nose. As irritating as Ushijima can be, he isn’t wrong - the crime, and by extension, superhero beats have been quiet of late. The slowness is welcomed, he supposes; a lull in the these kinds of news meant less problems for the public.

But idle hands leave too much room for thought. And Oikawa hates being left alone with his thoughts.

“Alright, Tettsun, let’s go!” He stands up, pulling his coat off his chair as he bats his eyelashes at his usual partner-in-crime. “Lunch is on you, right?”

Kuroo grimaces. “It’s not like I’m pulling a higher salary than you, asshole. But fine, just this once.”

Later that evening, Oikawa stops by Lawson to pick up dinner anyway. His work drawer had been suspiciously empty; probably Sugawara’s doing - damn Kuroo and his equally meddling ways. There’s a new donburi shop that’s opened a couple of stores down from the convenience store. From office chatter, it’s affordable and generous in portions.

Yet, here he is, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, staring up at the familiar blue-and-white sign. Routine is comforting, he tells himself as glass door slides open, and there’s nothing wrong with sticking to the tried and true.

The man behind the counter takes one glance at him and immediately moves towards the ladle in the oden box. “Onsen tamago set with daikon, two fishcakes and konnyaku?”

“...Ah yes.” Oikawa blinks owlishly. “You remember?”

The cashier shoots him a droll look. “Hard to forget, given that you’ve ordered this every night for a week.”

“...I have?”

“I’d remark on your eating habits,” the cashier passes him the filled paper bowl, “but you’re a grown adult. That’ll be five hundred yen.”

“As are you, Cashier-san.” Oikawa hands over the appropriate change. “Thank you.”

“Please come again.” The wry eyebrow raise says the man fully expects him to patronize the store again, and Oikawa flirts with the idea of taking his business to the Family Mart by the train station.

But, the cashier _is_ easy on the eyes, and it is nice to look at aesthetically pleasing things that aren’t superheroes, supervillains or the people caught between them. Plus, pointed comments aside, he must have given Oikawa the largest oden available in the box, judging from the size of the ones he had ladled out.

So the journalists chirps “I will,” with a jaunty bob of his head, throwing an ostentatious wink in there for good measure. He’s rewarded with a brief grimace on Cashier-san’s face, which lifts his mood for the rest of the walk home.

\---

He’s a lot less amused the next day when he’s hoisted by a snarling beast up the side of Opera City Tower in the middle of scoping out the fight between itself and a handful of minor superheroes.

“Seriously?” he shrieks at the monster, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid vertigo as the monster - christened ‘Rodan’ by the Japanese media - swings its wings around in an effort to bat Tsuzume away, beaked maw opening to emit an ear-piercing screech. He doesn’t bother with squirming; judging by how tightly he’s being gripped, it’s a futile endeavour. Better to save his energy for when he has a decent chance at escaping.

See, the thing about Oikawa is this: he’s a damn good reporter, working for one of the most widely-read newspapers in Japan.

He’s also the farthest thing possible from a ‘damsel in distress’.

So he stays put until Rodan has finished scaling the building; judging from his previous attacks, the dragonesque kaiju isn’t likely to harm Oikawa in its single-minded focus to settle on the highest foothold possible. Tsuzume is a glowing spectre, hovering out of reach -  huh, she’s learnt to stop diving headfirst into fights. Metalhead’s nowhere in sight, but it’ll take the iron-transmutation hero a while to pull something together that’d boost him up the fifty-four floors to reach the fight.

(Level of collateral damage: moderate. Lots of glass damage and trampled vehicles, but the building structure is still intact. Tsuzume and Metalhead are going to get at least a solid month of community service for this. Note to self: follow up on this.)

Once Rodan’s distracted fending off Tsuzume’s blasts and Metalhead’s swords, Oikawa wriggles around until the grip around his frame is loosened, then clicks his heels together. The blades that slide out from the back of his loafers are long enough to dig into the soft flesh of the monster’s palm, and Oikawa moves his heels enough to ensure they twist cruelly.

The monster roars, and predictably unclenches his fist, sending Oikawa plummeting straight down the building as intended.

He’s about to trigger the compact paraglider sewn into the lining of his coat when something leaps out of one of the broken windows he’s hurtling past, seizing him in a hold more painful than that of Rodan’s.

“ _What the fu-_ ” Oikawa whips his head around to yell at the idiot who’s gone and messed up his escape plan, then stops, nonplussed.

It’s Gra-Knight.

Rock planes scrape together as the superhero curls his frame around the reporter, his free hand reaching out to seize a telephone pole to slow their fall. Their landing creates a mini-crater along the side of the road nonetheless, but Oikawa is barely jolted despite the hard impact.

Still, he can’t help the unattractive gape he swings in Gra-Knight’s direction, who had immediately released Oikawa upon landing. The stone eyes widen slightly as he realizes exactly who he’s saved, but his question is calm and polite.

“Are you alright?”

Unfortunately, Oikawa isn’t feeling quite as professional, not with adrenaline running high in his veins with no clear outlet now that he’s back on solid ground. “I was saving myself, you asshole!”

Gra-Knight’s brow creases, the superhero unconsciously taking a step back at Oikawa’s vehemence. “You…what?”

“I certainly didn’t need your interference!” Oikawa stabs a finger at the crater. “And my method would not have created _that._ ”

From somewhere above them, another screech streaks the air, followed by a pained squeal - Tsuzume’s. Gra-Knight spins immediately, lowering his body into a crouch. “Get to safety.”

He doesn’t wait to see if Oikawa complies with the terse instruction, already sprinting back towards his comrades. Even as Oikawa watches, still brimming with angry indignation, he leaps onto a makeshift platform of Metalhead’s making, rising back into the fray and out of the journalist’s sight.

\---

“Guess your required community service is much longer than two weeks now.”

Gra-Knight’s lack of reply is answer enough. Oikawa sighs, reconsiders his next move before deciding that he’s committed to it anyway.

“Here.” He waits until Gra-Knight turns to look at him before he thrusts the tumbler out. “It’s coffee. Bourbon Arabica. As an apology for the yelling and all.”

Gra-Knight eyes the tumbler; it was the largest Oikawa could find, with a simple pop-up straw mechanism that shouldn’t be difficult to use, even with overlarge fingers. The reporter wiggles it invitingly. “It’s crack-proof and everything.”

Another beat, then Gra-Knight carefully takes the tumbler with the same cautiousness that punctuates his mail delivery. “...Thanks.”

“So, listen, about that whole thing yesterday. I...appreciate what you were trying to do, but that stunt ended up jamming my paraglider, and it’s not going to be cheap to get it fixed. Assuming you plan to work in Tokyo long-term, we have to lay down some ground rules.” Oikawa pauses, gauging the superhero’s reaction to the statement. “I’m going to be around a _lot_ ; same goes for my photographer, Kuroo. You can’t afford to keep coming to my ‘rescue’ when there are bigger fish to fry. So, let’s agree on this: I’ll handle my own landings unless I yell for help. Trust me, you’ll know when I do.” The reporter bites on his lower lip, then exhales explosively. “But… thanks for trying yesterday, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, I guess? But I _am_ sorry about the paraglider. You’re right; you could have gotten yourself out of there, probably more cleanly without my jumping into it.” Oikawa looks up, taken aback at the ease of the superhero’s concurrence. “I went and looked you up, Oikawa Tooru. You’re pretty famous.”

“You didn’t know who I was before yesterday?” Oikawa whistles. “Don’t you read the news? Or do you generally just run blindly towards every explosion you hear?”

“No need to be an ass about it,” Gra-Knight grumbles. “Miyagi’s a lot simpler than Tokyo. Less critical of their superheroes too, but I guess we didn’t have problems with contributing back to the community post-battles.”

He fixes Oikawa with a considering look. “You don’t much like superheroes, do you?”

“Nope.” The answer leaves his lips easily. It’s an open secret; anyone with access to more than a single copy of Asahi Shimbun would know of Oikawa’s infamous contempt for the meta-humans.

“Fair enough.”

Oikawa cocks his head. “Not going to ask me why I cover the superhero news anyway?”

“Why should I?” Gra-Knight puts the coffee tumbler into the mail bag, and continues with his work. “Seems obvious enough - you’re clearly good at your job. Apart from your personal column, your news reports seem thorough and impartial. And you do give credit where it’s due.”

It’s a more level answer than some of the responses Oikawa has received from some of the other superheroes and their fans, which range from accusing the reporter of being an ungrateful fucktard, to death threats. An amused chuckle breaks the comfortable silence, and Oikawa startles when he realizes the sound is coming from him.

“You’re an interesting guy.”

“Nah. I’m just your standard operating superhero.” Gra-Knight dusts his hands off before closing the flap of his bag. “Probably a lot less fascinating than your local heroes. I’m done. Have a nice day, Oikawa-san.”

This time, the superhero turns back in the entryway. “By the way, remind me to ask you about the knives in your shoes the next time we run into each other. And about the paraglider.”

“Ask away. Don’t expect me to answer though.” Oikawa lifts a hand in a mock-salute, only dropping it when the rock knight is out of sight.

\---

“The coffee was good.” Gra-Knight hands the tumbler back to Oikawa the next morning. “Thanks. Are those hair curlers?”

The journalist nods sleepily, yawning behind his hand. “Too lazy to blow-dry my hair properly last night. I’ll comb it out later.”

“Huh, guess those good looks aren’t 100% natural then.”

“You calling me good-looking, Knight-chan?” Oikawa’s exaggerated simpering dissolves into snickers at the disgust carved clearly into Gra-Knight’s face. “But there’s gratitude for you: I bring you more coffee and you poke fun at my appearance. See if I bother doing it again tomorrow.”

“There’s more coffee?” The superhero visibly perks up, the cragginess of stone creasing into lines of interest. It’s actually endearing in an odd sort of way, and Oikawa hands over the tumbler he’d brought down with him. “Not that I mind, but if you’ve got an ulterior motive, you might as well come out with it.”

“So rude, Knight-chan. Maybe I’m trying to be nice.”

“...nah. You don’t seem the type. If you’re trying to butter me up for a profile, might as well stop right there. I’ll make a pretty boring feature.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” A yawn catches Oikawa off-guard, and Gra-Knight chuckles.

“Go back to sleep, Oikawa-san.”

“No can do - work starts in a few hours. But I’ll let you get on with yours.” Tucking the empty tumbler under his arm, Oikawa starts trudging back up the stairs. “Oh, be careful with Subaru-san’s mail - she’s box number 124. She’s fussy about her letters being pristine.”

The superhero nods. “I’ll pay more attention to those. Have a good day, Oikawa-san.”

“You too, Knight-chan.”

\---

“He liked your coffee.” The whistling of the wind rushing past them doesn’t completely hide the incredulity in Kuroo’s voice.

“I make good coffee, okay. Can’t this thing go any faster?”

“My baby’s already going as fast as she can, you ungrateful ass.” Nevertheless, Kuroo revs the motorcycle’s engine, weaving expertly through the desperate traffic and people rushing in the other direction. “And just because you inhale coffee by the bucket load doesn’t make you a world-class barista. Bet being made out of rocks dulls the taste buds.”

Oikawa’s irritated huff is drowned out by the sound of terrified screams and another creaking groan as the bridge judders again. “Why does everyone insist on mocking my taste in food lately?”

“You make it too easy, that’s wh- _oh fuck you too, Blasteroid!_ ” Kuroo swerves hard as another shudder ripples through the asphalt of Eitai Bridge, courtesy of another of the giant robot’s missed plasma shots. The battle’s already taken its toll on the piers supporting the south end; even from a distance, it’s hard to miss the gap where a solid platform once was, the edges haphazardly jutting out towards the end it once connected to.

Another shake, followed by the ominous crack of concrete fracturing as Blasteroid’s leg hits the side of the bridge in the mech’s bid to steady itself. Kuroo’s motorcycle growls anew as its owner guides it around the vehicles sliding inexorably towards the far edge. “We’re getting close - can you reach my camera bag?”

Oikawa squeezes his knees around the seat more tightly as the motorcycle zooms closer to the battle zone. “I’ve got it between my thighs; it’s ready to go whenever.”

Kuroo’s groan is heartfelt. “If that’s a dick joke, I swear...” He veers around an abandoned four-wheeler. “How close do you need to be?”

“Any spot where we can observe the action first-hand is good enough.” Oikawa loathes bridge fights; scoping out a good vantage point to report from is always a challenge, but the tenuous nature of bridge architecture make them a whole new level of difficult, even without taking the basic hazards and risks into account. Never mind that accessible areas are more limited, the likelihood of said areas staying secure over the course of the fight is low, with sea-planted foundation pillars more easily compromised compared to the roadworks of a city brawl. Long story short: Oikawa and Kuroo would have to be on the move constantly if they wanted to leave intact.

At least Oikawa can grill Ushijima later for details on this fight if he absolutely has to - the familiar form of Terrastorm’s purple and white uniform is striking. Even as the journalist watches, the superhero’s laser eyes lop off a metal ridge that he catches easily, hurling his makeshift projectile at his opponent.

The bridge shivers again, visible cracks spidering through the granite and Kuroo curses, jerking at the handlebars to move his motorcycle up onto the sidewalk. “Hang tight.”

A chorus of other voices announced the arrival of superhuman reinforcements - Tsuzume again, Inukoh from the loud growling, HootHoot -

Then he hears a very familiar voice join the others, and turns his head to see the familiar silhouette of a knight tromp down the roadway. Despite the situation, Oikawa finds himself grinning in anticipation over something other than the scoop ahead of him.

\---

The Lawson cashier’s brow wrinkles as he looks Oikawa up and down. The reporter couldn’t blame him - even natural charisma couldn’t quite compensate fully for his dusty, half-soaked appearance. “Got into a fight?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Oikawa’s done his best to clean himself up, but there’s only so much one can do after avoiding errant plasma blasts and crumbling concrete. On top of that, he hadn’t been able to avoid the wave that had crashed over the remains of the bridge when Blasteroid had gone down at last, nor Kuroo’s cackling when the latter had popped up from his makeshift shelter to see his spluttering colleague.

Fuck bridge fights, seriously. At least his phone and all his notes had survived intact this time.

“I’ll have my usual please.” Oikawa charitably ignores the odd looks the other customers shoot him.

The cashier doesn’t even bother moving towards the box, turning his head to squint half-heartedly at the hotpot compartments. “Um, I think we’re just out. Sorry.”

Oikawa’s too exhausted to argue that it’s not his problem that the cashier hadn’t remembered to refill the oden machine. “Then I’ll take...what’s that there? Oh, chicken nuggets. Six chicken nuggets then please.”

The cashier is a little sluggish, the stiffness of his movements obvious in his food packing. Every now and then, the outline of a bruise peeks out from below the line of a rolled-up shirt sleeve. Still, he surveys Oikawa consideringly as he rings his purchase up. “You going to be alright?”

Oikawa blinks at the unexpected concern. Then he thinks of the pieces of first-hand information he had managed to wheedle out of an exasperated Gra-Knight post- battle and smiles beatifically.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

\---

“You’re probably going to die and still not be finished with the mail at this rate.”

Gra-Knight grunts, pointedly ignoring Oikawa’s chirpy remark. “Going to help with the construction work over at the bridge later. That should clear off a large chunk of my community debt.

“It’s like student loans, Knight-chan; you’re going to be stuck with community debt for all eternity.”

“Stick to writing - sympathy is definitely not your forte. Here, take your damn mail - why do you always have so many letters?”

“Superheroes aren’t the only people who have fans, Knight-chan.” It’s an easy enough shuffle to separate the fan letters from the ones that actually matter, like bills and bank letters.

“You sure those aren’t hate letters?”

“Oh, I get those too. I make they go into recycling properly, because I’m a good Japanese citizen.” The reporter scrutinizes a particularly thick envelope, shaking it carefully before lifting it up to squint through the paper’s thin opacity.

“Can never be too careful.” Satisfied that the day’s mail all seem safe, Oikawa goes back to idly watching Gra-Knight slot envelopes into mail slots. “Say, Knight-chan, I’ve been wondering: how do you get by looking like that?”

The superhero’s face creases into a frown. “Like what?”

“Like something that stepped out of Wander and the Colossus.”

“Oh, you mean my armor? I don’t always have it on, you know.” Gra-Knight blinks. “Oh, you… don’t know.”

“I probably would have figured it out after a while,” Oikawa asserts, slightly disgruntled. “But I haven’t had good reason to dig into your history yet.”

“Thank god for small mercies.” Gra-Knight extends his hand, unfurling his fingers to display them to Oikawa. The way the rocks and stones interlock to form each joint is fascinating, and Oikawa barely resists the urge to seize the proffered hand for closer inspection.

“That’s all armor?”

“Yeah.” Gra-Knight doesn’t offer anything more and Oikawa doesn’t press. He’s been in his job long enough to have reported on the tragedies and disasters that occur from superheroes trusting others with the secrets behind their superpowers.

“So, you have a normal human form,” he muses instead. “Why not use it for your mail rounds? Oh wait, never mind, scratch that question. Secret identity schtick, right?”

“That, yes. And it helps with my fine motor skills,” Gra-Knight says, completely serious. The journalist snorts.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Having strength is great, but the real skill lies in figuring out how to harness it properly. Force doesn’t always get the job done.” Gra-Knight pushes another envelope into a mailbox. He’s gotten much better at it; only one in every ten letters are creased now, and even so, just barely.  

“Why mail sorting though? I’d have thought the JSU would assign someone with your abilities to the heavier stuff, like repaving the roads or restoring buildings.”

Gra-Knight shrugs. “I volunteered. It’s easier to persuade the others to do the more PR-friendly duties, and someone’s got to cover the more menial jobs. Plus, it’s actually relaxing. Even got to meet some interesting people on my rounds.”

Oikawa frowns at the usage of the plural. ‘People’, huh? The thought that Oikawa’s apartment block isn’t the only one on Gra-Knight’s service route rankles a little more than it should.

Aloud, he asks, “But I’m the most interesting by a mile though, right?”

The rock-knight pauses mid-sorting to look at him appraisingly. “You’re just a pain in the ass who needs more sleep.”

“Mean, Knight-chan. I’m not just a pain in the ass - I’m a devilishly handsome pain in the ass.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” There’s amusement in the granite tone though, enough of it to ease the band that had constricted slightly around Oikawa’s heart.

“Mmm, I’ll have you know I haven’t had any complaints thus far.”

Gra-Knight’s groan is worth the effort of the ultra-sultry purr Oikawa dredges out solely for that line. The reporter even gives Gra-Knight a little wave when the superhero leaves, and his best charming smile.

It’s satisfying to see the rock-man stumble slightly on his way out. Yup, Oikawa thinks, pleased, still got it.

\---

On Setsubun, Oikawa crouched behind an upturned truck, breath coming out in chilled puffs as he keeps flesh-consuming floating masks at bay with personal foldable shurikens while making notes on the evolution of Kabuki-no-Oyama’s powers.

Six days after, he bounded across the roofs of high-rise buildings with a grappling gun while dictating short notes on his phone’s recorder for a scathing feature on why Shadow Ace should not have been approved as a fully-qualified superhero. (Honestly, if he can’t even handle one cloning dwarf with a grudge, how is he supposed to cope with the more malevolent bad guys?)

Then there was that sentient statues incident that had cost the reporter his favorite bullet-proof cardigan, something he is still sore about.

Today, he strolls up to a sewer, squinting critically at the superhero who had caused an inadvertent widening of the manhole said suphero is in. “I think this is at least another week of mail delivery, Knight-chan.”

The hollowness of the sewer only serves to amplify the pained grunt that drifts out. “Thanks for the unnecessary information.”

“You’re welcome!” Oikawa tuts as he watches Gra-Knight hoist himself out of the mess with all the grace of a concrete block. “You really should be more careful.”

“You don’t get to tell me that,” the superhero grumbles. “You’re not even supposed to be here; it’s too-”

“Dangerous? I make it a point to stay out of the the way, in case you haven’t noticed.”Oikawa examines his nails, canting a hip. “Plus, I hate to point it out to you, Knight-chan, but I think my track record is better than yours at the moment.”

A passing superhero, his hair spiked up to resemble an owl, hoots with laughter, flashing Oikawa a thumbs up. “Oh man, he got you there, Gra-Knight!”

“Please focus on the clean up, HootHoot-san,” the empath behind him murmurs, nudging the owl-like superhero with the half-crushed fire hydrant in his arms. “I’d like to leave soon. The less community service we’re assigned, the better.”

Oikawa ignores HootHoot’s sheepish apology, making a mental note on the undercurrent of fondness in Psychrise’s reproving tone. In front of him, Gra-Knight finally heaves himself out of the hole, sprawling across the concrete road.

“Ugh. I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“Probably not.” Oikawa wrinkles his nose. “Ewww, you reek.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not as if I asked to be hurled into a sewer. God, I _hate_ Ghidorah.”

“I don’t think even its own mother likes it. And I guess the sewer lessened the impact, so that’s that.” The reporter nods towards where the other superheroes were clearing away debris, some more reluctantly than others. “You’d better go join them, or you’ll definitely be getting a lot more than mail delivery. Chop chop, Knight-chan; time is money, you know.”

Instead of complying, Gra-Knight tilts his head towards Oikawa. “Can I see them? Those ninja knives you used.”

“These?” Oikawa obligingly pulls out one of the kunais he had retrieved from where it had bounced off the monster reptile’s hide. Gra-Knight grunts.

“Those real?”

“The baddies I’ve buried them in before think so.”

The rock superhero levels a considering look on Oikawa. “Ninja knives, mini EMP jammers, knife shoes, coat paragliders-”

“Just the one in my summer coat; the winter one’s different.”

“Honestly,” Gra-Knight continues over Oikawa’s interjection, “Where you keep those things? No, scratch that, how do you even _get_ them?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Oikawa arches an eyebrow. “Alas, a gentleman doesn’t stab and tell.”

 _“_ You’re as much a gentleman as I’m a normal human being.”

“Rude, Knight-chan. I am but the best example of this dying breed.”

“Hah.” Gra-Knight closes his eyes. “You are competent though, I’ll give you that. Even if you still give me a fucking heart attack every time I spot you on-site.”

“I knew it -  you’re secretly an old man under all that rock, aren’t you? Spare your heart the stress and stop worrying about it.”  

“Yeah, fat chance of that happening. Though, I’ll admit - I do enjoy seeing what you’ll bring out when you’re in a tight spot.” The superhero pauses. “Wait, no, that came out wrong-”

“Ooh, Knight-chan, does my arsenal turn you on?” Oikawa coos in growing glee. “Just wait until you see what I’ve got in my _pants-”_

“Enough!” But Gra-Knight is chuckling reluctantly, finally rolling back unto his feet. Rock may not be able to betray the flush of embarrassment, but it’s clear enough in the gruffness of his voice. “I need to go help with the clean up. You got some kind of gadget that can help with that? Some kind of mini-vacuum cleaner or magnetized broom?”

“Ah ah, Knight-chan.” Oikawa wags a finger, mock-disapproving. “That’d be cheating.”

“You sure you aren’t some kind of secret superhero?”

The teasing words, light as they are, rips the humor right off Oikawa’s face. The reporter takes a step back, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Nah. Too normal to be one. And you already know how highly I hold superheroes in my esteem. Imagine if I were one - hah! What a joke.”

He tries a smile, but judging from Gra-Knight’s expression, it doesn’t quite work. “Oikawa? Are you o-”

“Oh, that’s my mobile phone. Sawamura probably wants me to turn in today’s report before he leaves; that’s work for you. Gotta jet - see you tomorrow, Knight-chan!”

Turning on his heel, the reporter walks away, squashing the urge to grapple-hook onto the nearest high-rise building and yank himself up and away.

If Gra-Knight’s eyes weigh heavily on his back, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

\---

Outside superhero mishaps and crimes, it’s almost routine by now to meet Gra-Knight in the morning, coffees in hand as they jibe at each other and talk. The JSU’s community service delivery hours are much earlier than the standard postal service; it’s only Oikawa’s equally odd sleeping hours that allow him to catch the superhero at all in the mornings.

So he’s caught off-guard when he stumbles down the stairwell to realize he’s not alone this time around.

The girl sitting on the bottom-most step jumps to her feet upon arrival, automatically bowing in greeting. “Good morning!”

“Ah...good morning.” She’s young, dressed in a high-school uniform, with her dark shoulder-length hair pulled back from her face by one of those lacy hair bands currently in trend. None of these details explain why she’s here though. She’s definitely not a new resident, nor comfortable with this area, judging from her overly-straight posture.

Before Oikawa can ask what she’s doing here, the familiar tromping of Gra-Knight’s feet announces itself, causing two heads to turn towards the large figure coming up the walkway. Oikawa’s gaze almost immediately slides over to the girl, noting the large smile that brightens her entire face.

“Gra-Knight-san!”

The superhero stops short at the unfamiliar voice, but the girl bounds over to him anyway, skirt bouncing in her single-minded focus.

“I just wanted to thank you for saving my mother in the Dai-Ichi Kangyo Shinkumi bank robbery last week.” Thrusting out a neatly wrapped box, she lowers her head in a 90-degree bow. “Please accept this as a token of our family’s gratitude.”

“Ah, it’s no problem.” Gra-Knight takes the box nonetheless. “Thank you.”

The girl beams again, clearly pleased that she has accomplished what she had set out to do. “We got them from a store in Ginza - I hope you like sweets.” A slim wrist lifts as wide eyes scan the watch clasped around it. “Oh! I have to go. Have a good day, Gra-Knight-san, and keep up the great work!”

“Of course. Study hard.”

Both men wait for the girl to skip out of sight before looking at the box still balanced in Gra-Knight’s hands.  The superhero sighs heavily. “Damn.”

“Not fond of sweets?”

“No, it’s not that.” Gra-Knight’s features contort into a grimace. “That robbery she was referring to was in Uguisudani - that’s nowhere close to this area. Which means that she must have gotten information about my community service routes, or at least this one, from someone or somewhere. Probably off the internet, if I had to guess.”

“Ah.” Oikawa’s written about (and criticized) the Union’s community service requirements so often that he knows most, if not all, its regulations and protocols by heart. _Rule 53, Clause b: No superhero is to perform any duty as community service for more than three (3) months consecutively._

Even Oikawa would be hard-pressed to find too much fault with that particular rule; given the grudges of some supervillains, the stipulation is meant to minimize risks to superheroes and the community they’re working in. Still, the prickly irritation that swells at the idea of Gra-Knight transferring away catches him off-guard. “Guess that means you’ll have to apply for a different service. Or maybe just mail delivery elsewhere.”

“It’ll take a while to process, but yes, I suppose so.” The rock-superhero quirks a chunky eyebrow at Oikawa. “ I can already imagine all the headaches you’re going to give my replacement.”

 _I’ll miss you,_ Oikawa wants to say.

“I’m sure your successor will be as charming as you, if not more so,” is what tumbles out instead, airy and light, the reporter winking on instinct as Gra-Knight shoots him a flat look.

The words sit on his tongue, unspoken, even when Gra-Knight leaves, and Oikawa swallows them back, mood soured with a vague displeasure as he climbs back up to his apartment.

\---

April begins with little fanfare, and Tokyo starts brimming around the edges, throngs of tourists eager to experience the sakura season streaming into the city. The rate of crimes, both mundane and supernatural increase as well, with supervillains taking advantage of the crowds and striking at the more popular spots. It’s a predictable rise though, almost an annual phenomenon at this point, and Tokyo’s superheroes wait on standby, primed to mobilize at the slightest hint of a distress call.

Oikawa types all of it - the attempted crimes and monster attacks  - up on autopilot. He still goes out on assignments and the quality of the reports he turns in falter so minimally, it’s barely noticeable. For those familiar with the reporter’s stringent standard though, it might as well be a klaxon that something is off.

Not that anyone calls him out on it. Sugawara plies Oikawa with milk bread on his desk for a week, and Kuroo tones down the wisecracks. Even Ushijima puts more thought into the words he exchanges with Oikawa, addressing him with a cautiousness usually absent in the other journalist.

All of these go unnoticed, and time passes in a sluggish haze, both too fast and too slow as the days creep by.

“You okay?” Gra-Knight asks once, tentative after two mornings of stilted silences. On any other occasion, Oikawa would have laughed at how awkward worry looks carved into a stone face.  

This month though, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You-” Gra-Knight starts, then stops. Tries again, “It seems like-”

“Semi-san won’t be happy if you rip up his bills before he reads them,” Oikawa says, gesturing at the envelope at risk of tearing into half in Gra-Knight’s clenched grip. “I’ve got to go get ready for work. See you, Knight-chan.”

He doesn’t go down the following morning, or the morning after. Just for this month, he says to himself. Just for April.

On the third Friday of the month, Oikawa stops by his usual Lawson to pick up a few items.

The cashier looks at the purchases Oikawa deposits on the counter. “Not dinner tonight, huh?”

He doesn’t comment on the bottles of Ura Kasumi or the flowers, but keen green eyes flicker between Oikawa’s face and the items he’s bagging. It’s almost laughable, this stranger trying to read Oikawa as if he can draw some kind of conclusion from Oikawa’s expression, the sake and Higanbana.

But Oikawa doesn’t have the emotional capacity to tell the man to fuck off with his poorly-hidden curiosity. He puts a thousand yen note into the money tray, takes the bag and leaves without waiting for change.

It doesn’t take too long for Oikawa to reach where he’s headed. It’s not even a proper location with distinctive markers; just a lamp post tucked in the corner of a path slightly off the main road, no different from the others lining the rest of the street. It’s quiet enough that there’s no one to look at the brunet man who painstakingly ties the spider lilies to the neck of the lamp post, then crouches in a corner amongst the shadows, groping around in his coat pocket for the bottle opener he had tossed into it this morning.

Well, almost no one.

“What are you doing?”

Oikawa chokes on his mouthful of sake, slamming the bottle down onto the pavement as he hacks for air. A hand helpfully pounds on his back until he’s got enough air back in him to stare nonplussed at the outline of broad shoulders and short spiked-up hair against the light.

“What the - what the fuck are you doing here?”

The Lawson cashier shrugs, shifting his stance into a proper crouch. “Finished my shift.”

“So why are you _here_?”

“Saw you on the walk back to my place. Plus, you’ve been a little off lately.” The man pulls out a can of beer from the plastic bag he had dropped by his feet. “Mind if I join you?”

Fuck yes, I mind, Oikawa wants to snap. But it’s been a lonely month being left to keep company with familiar grief and painful memories.

“Do whatever you want,” he mutters instead, studiously ignoring the sounds of the cashier settling down beside him. The soft crack of a pop tab pricks the still air, and the other man looks at Oikawa, raising his can to him in salute.

“Kenpai.”

How long they sit in silence Oikawa doesn’t know; in other years, his usual habit had been to sit and drink himself into either oblivion or tears, emotions wrung out of him like an old dishcloth. Never had he factored in the possible addition of a second person into this routine. Oddly enough, the added presence of the stranger isn’t as intrusive as Oikawa feared it might be - Cashier-san is surprisingly quiet, seemingly content to let Oikawa be, even as he sits within Oikawa’s personal space and watch the journalist knock back drink after drink. It’s a marked difference from the tiptoeing his co-workers and friends have been doing.

The small change in routine doesn’t quell the flood of memories though, and it isn’t long before the first, hiccuping sobs come. Oikawa buries his face in his knees, stifling the sorrow in wrinkled wool. Oikawa rarely cries; he’s unattractive when he does and it wouldn’t do to show weakness.

Only once a year does he allow himself to break at the corner of a quiet by-road, under the soft glow of a mute lamppost.

This time though, the lamppost isn’t the only witness to Oikawa’s grief. A hand slides into his;warm and startling. He tries to knock it away - he doesn’t want comfort, doesn’t need it, doesn’t _deserve it -_

Instead, his fingers instinctively clutch around the soft item pushed into his palm. He lifts his head, squints at whatever it is through the blurred lenses of tears, then buries his face in it. The scent of generic clean-pine assaults what’s left of his senses, but cotton is a much better alternative than woolen pants.

 _How the hell could it still hurt_ , he thinks as he swipes at his eyes and nose with the borrowed handkerchief. _How the hell does it keep hurting_ , he asks as he keeps swiping and wiping.

“It sucks,” Cashier-san offers once Oikawa’s crying slows into stuffy sniffling. “When you lose someone.”

Maybe it’s the way he says it, or how his tone is quietly understanding. Whatever it is, it sets Oikawa off all over again.

“My father,” he chokes out, “ _My father_ -”

The comforting hand is on his back again, anchoring him. Strangely, Oikawa doesn’t want to shrug it off, curling into the support it offers instead. He’s too tired, too drunk to think about dignity or stranger danger or all that bullshit tonight. It’s nice to just lean on something (or someone, in this case) for once.

“He was my only parent.” Oikawa says much later, voice small and hoarse from dried-out tears. “Died before I turned sixteen. No one else remembers him now but me, isn’t that a shame?”

Cashier-san nods and doesn’t pry. But alcohol and a listening ear work better than any truth serum, and Oikawa rambles on. “He was fucking amazing with computers. The best. Anything you wanted, if it’s stored on a server or hard disk, he could get it. Nothing could stop him. _Nothing._ ” He waves his bottle around, barely registering when Cashier-san removes it from his loose grip. “Even the JSU couldn’t stop him, so fucking good. I became a reporter ‘coz of him, just so I could be as good as he was.”

“Sounds like a good man.”

“Naaaah, wasn’t a good guy.” Oikawa tips his head back to stare at the sky. “Never one of the good guys. Used to argue with him every other week. Used to get so pissed off, both of us. Used to disappoint him. Then again, I fuck things up so easily, maybe I should have expected it.”

“I don’t think you’ve disappointed him at all,” Cashier-san says firmly. Oikawa’s chuckle is mirthless.

“Funny thing, he used to say that too. But it’s in his eyes, y’see. Mouths can lie, but eyes can’t.”

“Yeah, well, the mind can lie better than both of those.” The other man squeezes Oikawa’s shoulder where his fingers are curled around it. “Bet you if he could, he’d tell you he’s proud of you.”

“You’d lose that bet.”

“I doubt it.”

“Oikawa.” A third voice cuts like a cold knife into the conversation. The person it belongs to rounds the corner, casting a long shadow over the pair. Cashier-san stiffens, but Oikawa reaches for his hand, patting it.

“It’s ok. Just my dumbass foster brother.” Much louder, he yells, “Go away, Ushiwaka-chan! This is a private memorial!”

“Okaasan got worried and told me to check on you.” Ushijima's flint-like gaze scans Oikawa’s new friend from head to toe. It’s rude.

“I’m not being rude,” Oops, had he said that aloud? “Merely concerned.” The set of Ushijima’s mouth is disapproving as he reaches out to Oikawa, who still manages to dodge the hand, despite the way his head is spinning. “Oikawa, don’t be ridiculous. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah, you should get some rest.” Oikawa stares at Cashier-san, who bumps his shoulder companionably, apparently immune to the added quivering of Oikawa’s lower lip at this apparent betrayal. “You’ve still got work tomorrow, right?”

“...maybe.”

“Best to get some sleep then.” Getting to his feet, the man reaches for Oikawa’s hands, tugging him up onto his feet. “Thanks for looking out for him,” he says to Ushijima, who nods, expression softening marginally as he replaces the stranger’s supporting hold on Oikawa’s shoulders with his own, steadying the reporter.

“Thank you as well.”

Oikawa yawns; now that he’s standing, he is, actually, more exhausted than he thought he was. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Cashier-san!”

“It’s ‘Iwaizumi’, not Cashier-san.” In the lamplight, Iwaizumi’s smile is as warm as his hand had been.

“Iwaizumi,” Oikawa mumbles to himself. It’s a nice name. “Okay, Iwa-chan, see you!”

“Take care, Oikawa-san.”

\---

“You’re in a better mood this morning.”

Oikawa hums. “Am I?”

“It’s too early for your word games.” Gra-Knight’s grumbling is good-natured though. “But it’s better than the past few weeks, I suppose. Here, got you this.”

“Ooh, a present? It’s not my birthday, Knight-chan.” Oikawa’s hand is already out, wriggling with curiosity as Gra-Knight pulls a rectangular box out of his bag. Gra-Knight grunts.

“Well, I could just take this back then, get a refund or something -”

“Noooo, it’s for me, right?” Oikawa takes a grab for the slim box, almost toppling over as Gra-Knight teasingly pulls it out of reach. “You can’t promise to give something then take it back - it’s against the rules!”

“Oh? Guess I’ve got the updated edition of this rule book you’re referring to.” Gra-Knight grins at the reporter’s pout. “You know, that doesn’t look as cute as you think it is.”

“ _Knight-chan_!”

“Alright, alright, keep your curlers on. Here.”

Despite his impatience, Oikawa’s fingers are careful as he unties the ribbons, then tugs the cover off. Nestled inside is a fountain pen, sleek and shiny with a lone gold stripe running through its turquoise length.

Gra-Knight jerks a little at Oikawa’s soft inhale, rubbing at his helmet self-consciously. “Uh, you still seem to use notebooks, so. I hope you like-”

“It’s gorgeous,” Oikawa breathes, lifting the pen out of the foam pillow with reverence. “Knight-chan, this is - this can’t have been cheap. Was there some kind of superhero salary-raise I forgot to cover at the last public Union meeting?”

“You’re welcome.” Gra-Knight ducks his head as the reporter lifts his awestruck gaze from the gift to Gra-Knight’s face. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t turn it into some kind of motorized laser cutter.”

“I was thinking a sleeping gas chamber, but-” Oikawa squeals, dodging Gra-Knight’s half-hearted swat. “Kidding, kidding! I love it, Knight-chan. Thank you.”

Catching Gra-Knight’s hand, he presses a light kiss to it, startling as a shudder shook its way down the superhero’s arm. “Ooh, that felt like a mini-earthquake. Weird.”

Gra-Knight is still staring. “Did you… why did you?....”

“Just my way of saying thanks, Knight-chan!” Oikawa flashes him the cutest peace sign he could muster. “Awww, are you blushing under there? Big ol’ rock superhero and everything - surely you’ve been kissed in gratitude at least _once_ -

“Yeah, uh, I.” Gra-Knight fumbles for his bag, almost dropping it. “Shit, I’m going to be late to my next stop.”

“Hand some of those letters over.” Sliding the box into the pocket of his robes, Oikawa sticks his hand out. “It’ll be faster with two.”

“You sure? It’s my civil service and all…”

“Shh, Knight-chan, you’ll be even later if you waste time arguing with me. C’mon, let’s get to it.”

If he he is ever forced to retire from journalism, Oikawa supposes that being a postman might not be too bad an alternative. Gra-Knight is right; it is pretty relaxing to separate letters and push them into their respective owners’ boxes.

Then again, most postmen do not have such sturdy companions, radiating calm and concentration beside them. And Oikawa’s starting to suspect that that makes all the difference.

\---

“Oh hey, cool pen.”

“Don’t encourage him, Kuroo,” Sugawara groans melodramatically, his chair creaking as he leans it as far back as it can go. “He’s been showing it off each morning and every opportunity he gets.”

“Don’t be sour just because _you_ didn’t get a cool pen, Suga-chan.” Oikawa leans on the cubicle divider, twirling Gra-Knight’s gift between his fingers while he preens.

“Oh, I’ve gotten a lot of pens, Oikawa. Lots of better things than pens, in fact. From superheroes too, from time to time. Though I admit, none of them were given with any romantic intent, so I’ll admit you’ve got me beat there.”

“ _Romantic intent_ ?” Oikawa yelps at the same time as Kuroo’s delighted “From a _superhero,_ you say _?_ ”

There’s no romantic intent!”

Sugawara arches an eyebrow, face completely straight save for a tiny twitch at his lips. “Really now? Wow, I actually feel a little hurt on Gra-Knight’s behalf - all those mixed flirting signals, and here you are declaring there’s no romance involved. Talk about savage.”

“‘Gra-Knight’?” Kuroo leans over Sugawara’s chair, looking more and more like a cat whose bowls of cream have come in all at once. “The rock-armor knight dude? Punches like a wrecking ball?”

“The one and only,” Sugawara confirms, even as Oikawa shrieks, “I’ve not - I’m not _flirting_ with Knight-chan!”

“First of all, Oikawa, unless you want to announce your not-relationship to the office and sundry, keep your voice down. Second, I haven’t even been to your apartment since that one unfortunate drinking party, and even _I_ can tell that you’re flirting. You’ve come to work with a glow, you haven’t given Gra-Knight any flak in your articles - hell, you _complimented_ him in the feature article last month. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve turned over a new leaf, but it’s really clearly just him, given how much shit you still give Terrastorm and Shadow Ace.”

“I can testify to the shit-giving.” Kuroo raises an arm, laughing as he dodges Oikawa’s indignant swat. “Come to think of it though, you do keep an eye out for the guy when we go out on assignment.”

“Because I can ply him for info!”

“Uh huh. You ply Terrastorm for info too, and still shit all over him.”

“I rest my case,” Sugawara says smugly from his seat.

“I…” Oikawa flounders. “I can’t be in love with the guy, Suga-chan. I mean - I’ve never even seen his face.”

Yeah, that part boggles my mind too, since you _do_ have a type, and a huge part of it is aesthetic. But you know that saying ‘love is blind’?” Sugawara steeples his fingers, meeting Oikawa’s eyes dead on. “This is me saying you’re flying in the dark.”

“...fuck, do I like Gra-Knight?”

“Romantic crisis aside,” Kuroo interjects, “Boss-man wants us at the 9 a.m. JSU press conference at the Metropolitan Government Office. You got the memo earlier, right?”

“Yeah… yeah.” The professional part of Oikawa kicks in enough to have him clumsily toss his usual recording kit into his backpack. “Just give me a minute.”

“Don’t forget your pen!” Sugawara sing-songs, laughing at the rude gesture tossed in his direction as Oikawa stomps towards the elevators, a grinning Kuroo in his wake.

\---

Oikawa drops into his seat the next morning, hair wild and eyes ringed with dark circles.

“Fuck, I do like Gra-Knight.”

“I would say I told you so, but I was raised better than that.” Sugawara peeks over the top of the cubicle divider. “Check your mail: I sent you all the information I’ve ever had to collect on the guy before, including Google and Naver searches and printed interviews. Not much, m’fraid, but hey, if it helps you to get to know the guy better.”

“You’re the actual best, Suga-chan.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

\---

“That’s a nice pen.”

A few days ago, Oikawa would have puffed up his chest to show it off better, beaming gleefully. Now, he jerks slightly, disconcerted. “Ah… yeah, thanks. It’s a gift from… a good friend.” Furiously, he wills the heat away from his face, praying that his cheeks haven’t gone traitorously pink.

From Iwaizumi’s reaction, it seems that Oikawa’s willpower is more substantial than he had thought, the cashier humming noncommittally as he scoops konnyaku and fishcakes into the tupperware Oikawa hands him. “Guess you reporter types get a lot of pens, huh?”

“Yeah.” But this one’s special, Oikawa doesn’t say aloud, feeling the back of his neck warming to join his cheeks.

“You feeling better?” Green eyes survey him keenly. “Since… you know.”

“Yeah, much. Thanks for sitting with me.”

“Nothing to it. That’ll be 500 yen please.” As Oikawa digs around his pockets for change, Iwaizumi adds, “Haven’t seen you around for a couple of days either. Hope that means you’re eating better.”

“Ah,” Oikawa pulls a face, “Work’s been extra-busy recently, so we’ve had takeout delivered to the office.”

“Guess that’s a step up from konbini-food at least.”

“Yup.”

Iwaizumi hands the container over, then hesitates. “Hey. I was wondering… would you be interested in dinner sometime? Doesn’t have to be anywhere fancy - there’s a pretty good donburi place just down the road.”

Oikawa stares, wide-eyed at the cashier, who was rubbing the back of his head self-consciously. A week ago, he would have accepted the invitation without too much thought - Iwaizumi was good-looking, with short dark hair and strong features. The cut of the simple Lawson uniform couldn’t hide the well-built body beneath, thin sleeves straining around considerable biceps. In short, whatever type Sugawara says Oikawa has, Iwaizumi checks every box, including the one labelled ‘considerate and tactful in emotional situations involving parental deaths’ that Oikawa hadn’t even realised mattered.

But Oikawa is still reeling from the discovery of his crush on a faceless superhero and all he can do is stare at Iwaizumi dumbly, at a loss for words. For once, his charisma doesn’t immediately rise to his aid, and the words that usually roll so glibly from his tongue are nowhere to be found.

Someone coughs politely from behind Oikawa - another customer who had entered, oblivious to the awkward situation the two of them are locked in.

“I should… you should get back to your work,” the reporter manages to say without stuttering too much.

Iwaizumi is still smiling slightly. “Tomorrow then?”

Oikawa is saved from having to answer by the sound of his ringtone. He looks at Sawamura’s name blinking on the small display screen, then lifts his eyes to Iwaizumi. “I should- it’s probably some last-minute work assignment-”

“Go ahead. Let me know, yeah?”

Oikawa should reject him then and there, dash any hopes Iwaizumi harbors for him.

“See you around,” he says instead, and hates himself as he hurries out into the night, barely paying attention to Sawamura’s message spilling out of the receiver.

\---

Oikawa doesn’t see Iwaizumi around.

It’s not that hard to take on extra filler articles and blurbs here and there, and the reporter’s lived on instant ramen plenty of times before. Sugawara shoots him concerned looks and even more concerned reminders to sleep and eat properly; Kuroo just straight up asks if ‘that rock-dude broke your heart’. Mercifully, neither of them are aware of the Iwaizumi situation, and can’t give him any grief over it.

“I’m an asshole,” he says through his hands, seated on the lowest steps of the stairs one morning. “I mean, I already know that, but… _ugh._ I should have rejected him straight up, right Knight-chan? But how do you reject someone so nice? Is it possible to still be friends after? But I guess I’ve gone and ruined that possibility now.”

Gra-Knight grunts. Were Oikawa not so wrapped up in his guilt, he might have picked up on the odd aloofness that has characterized the superhero’s actions lately. But, preoccupied in his thoughts as he was, he doesn’t notice the finger-sized dents dimpling various mailboxes.

“Do you think he’d hate me if I turn up? Hell, if he withdraws the offer first, I guess that’d solve the problem, wouldn’t it?”

Another grunt.

“Do you think I should just, I don’t know, never go back? But that’d make me even more of an asshole, especially after what he’s done for me. Though really, aside from that one time, we don’t really know each other that well, so maybe it’s not so-”

“Oikawa.” The interruption is abrupt, and Oikawa blinks, jerked out of his rambling. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Huh?”

“I haven’t given you any input. I don’t know this guy you’re talking about. So,” Gra-Knight slams a mail slot closed, “why are you telling me all this?”

“Because you’re my friend.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not…” Oikawa exhales hard, propping his chin on his hands. “Fuck. Is it that obvious?”

Another envelope’s edges rip in Gra-Knight’s hands. “Yes. So, why?”

“Honestly, Knight-chan, no need to be so grim. What if I just want advice from a friend...” The excuse dies on Oikawa’s lips as Gra-Knight turns to look at him, anger evident in the hard chips of his eyes and mouth. “Knight-”

“I won’t ask again, Oikawa.”

Oikawa sighs, tilting his head to the side. “Are superheroes even capable of feeling jealousy?”

Rocks grind against each other as Gra-Knight rubs at his face. “I’m not in the mood to decipher your riddles, Oikawa. What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying maybe I’m rejecting the nice, hot cashier because I like someone else.”

“What’s that got to do with jealousy?”

“Maybe I’m trying to see if that someone else might be interested in me enough to feel that. Jealousy, I mean. Someone who’s a bit of a blockhead, but kind. Fearless, but with heart. Tries too hard to do the right thing.” Heart pounding, Oikawa meets Gra-Knight’s stunned gaze as levelly as he could. “Maybe that someone is a superhero. Which sucks, but we can’t all have everything, I suppose.”

The rock man is motionless. Then, “What?”

“Come on, Knight-chan; your hearing is perfectly fine. Do you really need me to go through the list of reasons again?”

“I’ve… I’m going to be late for the next stop.” Fumbling his bag close, Gra-Knight bobs his head in the shortest bow possible. “Have a nice day.”

He’s out the apartment gate before Oikawa has time to form some kind of objection at being so unceremoniously abandoned. The reporter stares a little longer down the empty path before chuckling acerbically.

“Well, karma is a bitch, I suppose.”

“There’s no such thing as karma, only the effects of the actions we do or don’t do.”

“ _Gaaaah_ !” Oikawa almost falls off the step. The minute he’s steadied himself, his consternation rearranges itself into an outraged squint at the new figure in the entry way, dressed in jogging gear.  “Fuck, what are _you_ doing here?”

Ushijima holds up a tool box that’s clearly overstuffed with gardening tools. “Community service. I’m supposed to landscape the section of Ueno Park that was ripped up in the last altercation we had with Electroid there.”

“So why is your ass here and not in costume over at Ueno Park?”

“Because I’ve finished what I’ve been assigned to do.” Ushijima drops his arm back to his side, impervious to Oikawa’s death glare. “And you haven’t been eating properly again.”

“Wonderful,” Oikawa mutters, slouching. “Fucking superheroes, seriously.”

Ushijima frowns. “I’m merely being concerned.”

“I’m fine.”

“Obviously not, especially after how Gra-Knight reacted to your poor attempt at a confession.”

At that, Oikawa’s shoulders immediately stiffen again, the reporter’s head snapping up to stare, wide-eyed at Ushijima. “You heard what happened? You- how much did you eavesdrop on?”

“Enough.” Ushijima drops into an easy crouch next to Oikawa. “You need to work on your communication skills.”

Oikawa sneers. “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

“I’ve never had complaints about the clarity of my intentions,” Ushijima replies implacably. “And given what I heard, it’s clear that Gra-knight misunderstood what you were trying to say.”

“And pray tell, what was I trying to say, exactly?”

“That you like him.” Ignoring Oikawa’s sharp inhale, Ushijima continues. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to test his feelings for you in such a roundabout way when you can simply ask him out directly.”

“Because I… it’d be awkward, okay? For one, I don’t know if he actually _likes_ me or not.”

“He gave you that pen, correct? The one you’ve been showing off around the office all week?”

“Yes, but…” Oikawa’s fingers worry at the hem of his shirt. “What if it’s just supposed to be some kind of consolation after how I’ve been an emotional wreck? I mean, friends give other friends stuff too, right?” A huff, and Oikawa’s shoulders drop. “I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you of all people.”

“What’s preventing you from asking him out directly?”

“Maybe I don’t want to be rejected, okay?” Despite the abrasive words, Oikawa hunches even further in on himself, staring at his toes. “Is that so hard to understand that we mere mortals aren’t always as well received as big-name superheroes?”

A short silence. When Ushijima next speaks, the thoughtful tone of voice softens the superhero’s trademark bluntness. “I’ve grown up with you, Oikawa, and know this much - rejections don’t get to you unless they matter. By that logic, you’re only concerned about his rejection because you are actually fond of him.” He waits until Oikawa’s done sputtering before continuing. “There are very few people you choose to invest in, and strangely, you have chosen to invest in Gra-Knight. I can’t say I was expecting this to happen when I first heard you were talking with the superhero assigned to the Marunouchi ni-chōme mail route, but stranger things have happened, I suppose.”

The superhero held up a hand up before Oikawa could protest. “I told you once you were wasting your skills working as a reporter just to spite the people you hated. But you’ve always been headstrong, and even I cannot deny that the statement I once made is no longer true.” Stern hazel eyes study Oikawa. “I understand how it feels to be uncertain as to whether your affections are returned. But if you’re truly serious about what you feel for Gra-Knight, I suggest you ask him directly if he’d be interested in going out with you.”

“And if he rejects me or leaves me hanging?”

“Then it will sting, but you’d have no regrets. However, Gra-Knight does not strike me as the type of man to avoid giving an honest answer.”

“Oh thanks, that makes me feel so much better.”

“You’re welcome.”

Oikawa snorts. “I can’t believe I’m actually considering taking advice from you.” But there’s a reluctant fondness around the edges of the reporter’s jibe. “Ask him straight out, huh?”

“Yes. And you’re going to miss the seven o'clock train if you do not go and get changed now.”

“Ah _fuck_.” Oikawa clambers to his feet. “Dai-chan will have my head if I’m not at the Chief Police’s press conference by eight.”

“I can fly us both to the event site.”

“No thanks, I’d rather not be caught on camera with Tokyo’s most sanctimonious hero. I’ll grab a cab, prices be damned.” Oikawa grimaces. “You know, for all the shit you gave me about being a reporter, you’re in the same damn job.”

“I needed a cover identity, you wanted to wreck reputations. I consider both very different intentions.” Picking up his tool box, Ushijma adds as he stretches his legs, “By the way, Okaasan asks if you’ll drop by the house this weekend.”

“Yeah, tell her I’ll be there. Now get out of here before I start feeling like I should actually hug you.”

Faint smile hovering around his mouth, the superhero-reporter starts ambling down the walkway, looking for all the world like an average citizen, albeit a slightly too-serious one. “Don’t be late for work.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

\---

The following morning sees Oikawa already up and waiting by the stairs, tucked in his usual robe to ward against the morning chill. It had been difficult to crawl out of bed a whole half-hour earlier than normal, but some things are worth it. And let it never be said Oikawa can’t recognize true worth.

As such, he doesn’t miss the flash of orange that streaks into the complex entrance, the small figure halting abruptly before the rows of mailboxes before he begins stuffing envelopes into slots at a pace too rapid for the eye to follow. Clad in bright orange spandex, he’s not a superhero Oikawa recognizes on sight, but Sugawara’s been waxing eloquent about a new bunch of transfers from Miyagi for a good month now. Judging from the sparks snapping around the kid’s wrists and the speed of his movements, this must be the speedster.

He’s not a terribly attentive superhero though, given how he hasn’t notice the disgruntled reporter yet. Oikawa coughs pointedly, and the tiny superhero jerks, huge golden eyes blinking at Oikawa.

“ _Gahhhh_! Oh, wow, I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone on my first day!” The superhero beams, practically vibrating with energy and cheer despite the early hour. “Hello, civilian! Sunspikes at your service!”

Oikawa ignores the hand the diminutive boy thrusts out, squinting hard at him. “Where’s Gra-Knight?”

“Oh, he finally swapped to the heavy-lifting jobs!” The outstretched hand easily switches into a thumbs up. “About time too - I’ve been pestering him to let me take over the mail duty for _ages_. I’m fast, you see, so it makes it super-easy to clear in record time - win-win!”

“Swapped to...” the reporter says slowly, “He’s not doing the mail community service anymore?”

“No-ope! He’s been assigned to m-” Sunspikes claps his hands over his mouth, blowing an embarrassed raspberry behind gloved fingers. “Whoops, almost forgot! I wasn’t suppose to say - something about it being secret and stuff. I didn’t say anything, right?”

“No, you didn’t.” _Damn it._

“Phew! I wouldn’t want to get chewed out on the first day of my job; that’d be super-lame for a superhero.” Sunspikes chortles at his inadvertent pun. “Anyway, I’ve got to dash - I’ve got five more districts to cover before eight. See you…?”

“Oikawa.”

The superhero’s jaw drops slightly at Oikawa’s terse introduction, and something akin to realization flashes in those expressive eyes. “Oh, so you are the guy that Gr- ! Uh, I mean, yeah, that’s a super-cool name, see you next time have a good day Oikawa-san!”

Sunspikes is gone before Oikawa could respond in kind.

“So that’s how you want to play it, huh, Knight-chan?” he murmurs, taking a long sip of coffee. “That’s alright. I’ve got other cards up my sleeve that I can play.”

\---

“No.”

“What do you mean _‘no’_?”

“Oikawa.” Even static couldn’t impinge on the immutable calm in Ushijima’s voice. “I’m not going to use my position to reveal the whereabouts of a colleague for no good reason.”

Oikawa doesn’t stamp his foot, but it’s a near thing. “But this _is_ a good reason! What happened to that whole carpe diem spiel you fed me two days ago? Here I am, attempting to ‘ask him out straight’ like you told me to do-”

“It _is_ an admirable action.”

“Exactly! So just tell me where Gra-Knight’s new community service is and-”

“But the Union has confidentiality clauses in place for situations like this and as the leader, I’m afraid I can’t breach them.”

“I take back every nice thing I’ve said about you,” The reporter hisses down the line.

“I don’t believe you’ve ever said anything nice about-”

Oikawa ends the call before Ushijima finishes the sentence, pressing the red circle as vengefully as he could. To the left, Sugawara eyes him from where he’s leaning against the cubicle divider.

“Looks like someone’s messed up with Rocky.”

“Don’t start with me, Suga-chan.” Oikawa pulls up a new Internet Explorer page on his mobile phone, populating his tabs with hero fansites and forums dedicated to sussing out superhero information. “This has not been a good morning.”

“Tou _-chy_.” Sugawara pulls a mock-doleful face. “And to think I was going to offer to keep an eye out, maybe casually cash in some favors and ask a few other superheroes less finicky than Terrastorm.”

Oikawa barely shoots his fair-haired colleague a glance, clicking his tongue in irritation as his searches yield nothing. “Get me any info you can on where I can find Gra-Knight, and I’ll buy you mapo tofu from that shop you like for two weeks.”

“Deal. No take-backs like last time.”

“That wasn’t a take-back; I legitimately found-”

“You can deny it all you want, but it was a take-back, Oikawa Tooru.” Sugawara flashes Oikawa a quick smile from where he had dropped into his seat, also pulling up databases on his computer. “But heck, even if you hadn’t offered, I’d help you with this for free. I don’t think I’ve seen you quite this moony over someone.”

Oikawa’s fingers still on his phone. “Do you think it’s worth it, Suga-chan? All this effort for someone who’s obviously avoiding me?”

“Oh, Oikawa.” Sugawara’s tone softens. “If you think it’s worth it, it’s worth it. Besides, he can’t hide forever - there’s bound to be some villain doing shit somewhere that’ll require him to come busting right out of hiding. And when that happens,” the fair-haired report finger-guns Oikawa, “All you need to do is be on-site before he jets.”

Brown eyes stray towards where a turquoise pen lay on a cluttered desk. “That simple, huh?”

“What’s simple?” A curious voice pipes up from across their cubicles - Yahaba, one of the more precocious new hires assigned to the superhero beat.

“You getting into trouble once Sawamura realizes your brief isn’t on his desk yet when he asked for it yesterday.” As Yahaba squeaks and rapidly disappears, presumably to work on said brief, Sugawara refocuses on Oikawa. “Yes, that simple. Hell, who knows - maybe he’ll have a change of heart and come looking for you.”

A snort. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

\---

It happens.

More specifically, Gra-Knight does comes to Oikawa, if ‘come’ covers ‘crashing through Asahi Shimbun’s wall-windows, courtesy of an enemy’s well-timed blow’.

Oikawa barely has time to react as glass explodes inwards in a clattering cacophony. A hard yank - Kuroo - pulls him out of his seat. An instance later, a stray piece of metal framing slams right into the cushion backing of Oikawa’s chair.

Behind them, Gra-Knight bowls through the office like a destructive wrecking ball, slamming first through Oikawa’s cubicle, then Sugawara’s, then through the rest of the row in quick succession before the far end of the room halts his momentum amidst the sparking of ripped wires and crushed computer parts.

“Gra-Knight!” Oikawa scrambles to his feet, only to stumble over the ruin that was once Sugawara’s desk. “Suga- Yahaba - are you guys-”

“I’m okay,” Sugawara’s shaky voice comes from behind Oikawa, Kuroo’s grip still curled around the reporter’s upper arm. Yahaba manages a life-affirming squeak in between heavy coughing. Some of the others aren’t so lucky - The air rings with screams half-muffled by the debris, intermingled with the shrieks of the fire alarms. The news office - or what’s left of it - is utter pandemonium. The mass of limbs and raised voices at the emergency exit only parts enough to let the distinctive form of Terrastorm through. The superhero doesn’t hesitate, striding over to the corner Kuroo had pulled their motley group into .

“Get everyone out,” he orders curtly before breaking into a run and diving out of the opening formed by Gra-Knight’s impromptu entrance.

“Man, I was supposed to be done with all this shit once I hung up the suit.” Kuroo rips out a chunk of glass that had embedded itself in his bicep, careless of the blood dripping down to his fingers. Already the wound is knitting itself close, the skin rippling as it regenerates. “‘Be a reporter’, they said. ‘It’ll be fun’, they said.”

Getting back onto his feet takes less than a second; deciding on what to do next takes a little more thought. Oikawa hesitates, eyes darting back and forth between Gra-Knight’s unmoving form, and the slow-starting effort of freeing his trapped co-workers.

“Go check on him.” Kuroo pushes him none too softly. “I’ll help the others. Plus, I think I saw Phyron out there, and he never works alone - they’ll need Gra-Knight back out in the field.”

Oikawa doesn’t waits for Sugawara’s agreement before he’s darting across the room, only stopping by what’s left of this desk to grab his coat and the utility belt still tucked safely in a reinforced drawer. Smart dress shoes crunch over glass and concrete dust, leaps over pile-ups of once-furniture -  he’s clambered across shakier terrain; this was barely a challenge.

It doesn’t take too long before he’s crouched before Gra-Knight. Pulling a motionless rock-encased arm out of the way takes a while, and Oikawa winces as chunks of rock fall away from the large arm, hitting the carpeted floor in a shower of sand. What really arrests him though is the sight of Gra-Knight’s head: without his super ability in effect, the impact of the crash-landing has caused a portion of the lower half of the superhero’s face-visor to crack off, exposing all-too-human skin.

There’s something vaguely familiar about the shape of the revealed jawline and parted lips, but now is not the time to ponder over it. Oikawa reaches out to try and shake the superhero awake. When that doesn’t work, he switches to desperate old-fashion slapping, smacking at one exposed cheekbone none too softly.

The edges of the crack crumble with the frantic motion, fragmenting inwards to reveal more tanned skin. Any curiosity Oikawa might harbour however is quickly arrested by another tremor rocking through the building, Right now, the world doesn’t need a secret-identity reveal - it needs a conscious superhero. It needs -

Gra-Knight groans and Oikawa’s thoughts stutter to an abrupt halt.

“Nnggggh…”

Shit, shit, _shit_ , Oikawa _knew that voice_ , has heard it countless times behind a Lawson’s counter, remembers that low tone in a dim alley -

“ _What.._.”

“Knight-cha - Gra-Knight.” The reporter keeps his voice steady, waits with superheroic patience for the superhero to reorient himself even as his own mind shrieks with the force of his realization. “Gra-Knight, are you okay? Can you stand?”

“Oikawa?” Even hoarse, there’s no mistaking who it is beneath the rock exterior as Iwaizumi rolls onto his back. The arm Oikawa had moved lifts as the superhero rubs at his face, then freezes. “Oh _fuck-_ ”

“Are you injured? Can you still fight?” Oikawa’s proud about how his voice is completely level, betraying nothing but calm.

“Ye-yeah.” The visor hurriedly regrows over the cracked edges, filling them in until vulnerable skin is hidden beneath sturdy rock again. The next time Iwaizumi speaks, the grit-growl edge is back in his voice; a feature of the armor, assumedly. “Is everyone alright?”

“We’re not sure - Tettsun and Suga-chan are helping to free the others from the rubble; probably going to do a headcount as well.” Oikawa raises a hand before the superhero could speak. “You can feel bad all you want later, but don’t waste time feeling guilty now. You need to get back out there and shut down those assholes ASAP.”

“On it.” Iwaizumi slowly gets to his feet, rolling his shoulders as he makes his way towards the opening. He only pauses once, turning to shoot Oikawa an inscrutable look behind his full-face gear before leaping out as well.

Against his better judgement, Oikawa moves to the edge to stare at the ensuing chaos as well, one hand anchored against a firm section of still-standing wall as he peers down the twenty-odd storeys. It isn’t hard to spot Terrastorm, weaving in and out of the fight as he hurls vehicles and the occasional boulder at a flaming figure. Nearby, Sunspikes and another superhero of lightning abilities - Ronin Thunder - are double-teaming Desert Stryke, and Gra- Iwai- Gra- Iwai - _that individual_ goes head-to-head with Streamstress, the rock armor holding its own against light blasts shot his way.

 _It’s journalistic responsibility,_ Oikawa tells himself as he shrugs on his coat and tugs on the flap that unfurls the light airglider tucked into the folds of cloth. _The public has a right to know_ , he adds as he runs fingers across the utility belt looped around his waist, checking to see what he has on hand.

A quick glance behind informs him that most of the office is already on its way to safely evacuating the building; from the back of the line, he meets Kuroo’s eyes. _Be careful,_ the photographer mouths at him. Oikawa manages a crooked smirk and a short nod before he kicks off.

The glider is a faster way to the ground than any stairs, and Oikawa is more than experienced enough to steer himself towards the farthest end of the fight. If it so happens to also be the end where Gra-Knight is fighting, it is purely coincidental.

A neat landing, a hasty detachment of the glider and the reporter springs towards the nearest defensible wall. It doesn’t take long for him to locate the closest stairwell, and he clambers up the metal steps, perching at a level above the fighting to give himself the advantage of surveillance.

Adrenaline pounding, Oikawa easily settles into a crouch meant to minimize his presence and reduce any damage sustained, even as keen eyes already start noting the status of the various skirmishes for a detailed report later. He’s done this countless times now, though admittedly never quite so close to his workplace. If all goes well, his only task would be to observe the incident in order to remember the details he’ll be assigned to report on later. And, despite the widespread destruction to the property in the vicinity (so, so, _so_ much community service after this one), this fight seemed to be mostly under control.

The one closest to him looks to be winding down, Iwaizumi clearly having the upper hand as he readies an arm to deal a final blow to the mostly unconscious Streamstress.

The blow never lands.

Without warning, he rock knight is lifted 20 feet into the air, rotated, and unceremoniously smashed into the tar road. Oikawa barely has time to gasp before it’s repeated (against a nearby wall), again (road once more), and again (lamp post this time), and again at a relentless, unforgiving speed.

 _Telekinesis._ _Which means_ -

A quick scan around the area, and Oikawa breathes in sharply. The next breath carries an unvoiced curse as he identifies the figure half-hidden behind a wall.

With his silver hair and sturdy cane, Proton Praetor would not have looked out of place in front of the public shogi boards at the park. Yet here he is, hurling megaton superheroes through the air like cotton ragdolls.

 _No_ , thinks Oikawa. _Not dolls. Like marionettes. Puppets on strings._

Another gesture of those large hands sends Iwaizumi into a truck parked nearby. Oikawa is no medical expert, but it doesn’t take a doctor to predict the consequences of repeated blunt force trauma, even on those with the protection of solid rock. Another glance at the rest of the makeshift battlefield tells the reporter that there will be no cavalry coming to Iwaizumi’s defence - the other superheroes literally have their own battles to fight. Even as he watches, Ronin Thunder makes as if to move towards Proton Praetor, before a mechanical tentacle reaches out and drags him backwards.

Judging from the integrity of the rock armor, Iwaizumi hasn’t quite been knocked senseless yet. But the repeated abuse and the earlier crash through Asahi Shimbun is bound to stack up, and the minute he loses consciousness -

A distraction. Oikawa needs a distraction.

A flashback arcs through the air, aimed at the back of Proton Praetor’s head. It never lands - a twitch of hands, and Gra-Knight falls gracelessly to land in a crumpled heap even as the small grenade stops mid-toss. It hovers at the highest point of its trajectory, the sole focus of the telekinetic attention.

“Oh? What’s this?” The supervillain clicks his tongue as the flashbang floats over to him, rotating as neatly as if it were a bizarre art exhibit. Hooded eyes peer closely at the weapon, before Proton Praetor lifts his head.

“Come on out, boy. No use hiding.” A quick flick of his wrist sends the grenade shooting skyward, where it explodes into a distant cloud of stun gas.

The face mask he’d pulled from under his collar no longer useful, Oikawa retucks it back under the stiff fabric. Then he stands, straightens his coat and starts walking down the stairs. His face is the textbook picture of nonchalance, as if he wasn’t afraid of a man who could have easily returned the grenade by forcibly shoving it into his mouth and down his gullet.

The cat’s decided to toy with the mouse then. Good enough.

Oikawa feels his feet being lifted up from beneath him, locked rigid as he drifts towards where the supervillain waits. His arms are left free - he tucks them in the pocket of his coat, lifting his chin to meet icy-blue eyes as he stops right before the man himself. The supervillain chuckles.

“You must be pretty proud of yourself, boy.”

“Not really, considering you caught my stun grenade.”

Proton Praetor waves a hand dismissively - at his side, Oikawa’s right arm lifts and flops. “You made sure I heard that flashbang. Only an incompetent fool or a schemer would pull a pin so noisily. And a fool would be gibbering in his boots right now. But you…you are interesting, Oikawa Tooru.”

“Ah, I see you have taste in your choice of reading material.”

“Hardly; why read dull columns when one could be indulging in Kitaro Nishida’s philosophical treatises? But the research behind your news reports is acceptable for one your age.” The telekinetic crooks a finger, and Oikawa twitches as a spasm runs up his heels to his neck. “I wonder: what do you know about me, eh?”

“Not as as much as I should. It’s only profitable to write about superheroes.” Oikawa doesn’t mention the compendium he keeps on supervillains as well, doesn’t hint at the file under ‘P’ that notes that Proton Praetor could only focus on manipulating one object at a time.

Thankfully, the supervillain doesn’t press the point, squinting at him critically. “That flashbang you threw. Where did you get it?”

Oikawa tries to shrug, finds his shoulders frozen now as well. “Picked it up somewhere; it’s amazing what you can find in thrift shops these days.”

“Don’t waste my time, boy. It’s custom-made. I should know; I had a box of them made for an old associate, as a favor for him.” The telekinetic cocks his head. “You know Cypher. No, wait, that miser wouldn’t have bought weaponry for just anyone. You must be someone close...a relative? No, you must be his child, aren't you?”

Oikawa blinks, forcefully relaxing the tightness forming around the corner of his lips and eyes. “Cypher? The technomage? The news reports said he died a bachelor.”

Proton Praetor wags a finger at him, chuckling as Oikawa’s arms flail with the tiny movement. “Ah ah, I thought you didn’t know much about supervillains? Don’t play the fool - it doesn’t suit you. You know as well as I that one does not need to be married to produce progeny. It was such a shame about Cypher though; he shouldn’t have gotten so ambitious at the end there with the superhero registry.  It’s been tiresome trying to replace him - genuine technomages are hard to come by. I don’t suppose you took after him, did you?”

Even in a life-threatening situation, the question still stings. But Oikawa would rather be crushed to death than allow Proton Praetor to see the effect of his inquiry. So he rolls his eyes as ostentatiously as he can. “Sorry to disappoint - I’m just your average irritating human being. Nothing special about me in the least.”

“Then I’m afraid our chat ends here; it seems our friend over there has finally managed to get to his feet, and we can’t have that.” As quickly as he was picked up, the journalist is dropped. Pain explodes where his ankle hits the ground with a sickening crack; it rips a scream from Oikawa.

But a louder crunch rips his attention away from the pulsing agony crawling up his leg. Gra-Knight’s massive frame hovers over him, panic carved into the granite features.

“I could just kill you myself, but where’s the fun in that? Gra-Knight here,” Proton Praetor jiggles the huge mass of superhero, “should weigh the equivalent of a concrete mixer - more than enough to crush you quite nicely. A pity that he won’t be able to enjoy the guilt for too long.”

A small chip of rock hits the ground, then another, and another in a steady shower. Both Proton Praetor and Oikawa stare, uncomprehending at the pile gathering on the ground, then up at the superhero in Proton’s grip, where cracks were forking along smooth rock plates and breaking around the edges. Even as they watch, a knee-plate falls off, cracking into jagged pieces as it smashes into the asphalt.

Then Oikawa yells, heart in his throat, “Gra-Knight, no! STOP!”

“Hm. Such unexpected heroics.” The supervillain sounds almost intrigued. “He’s literally shedding his identity to save you. Still, as fascinating as that would be to see his real face, I’m afraid I need his bulk fully intact; saves me the trouble of having to kill you directly. Crushing people to death is tricky if one doesn’t have a heavy enough weight to do it with - causes such a mess. So up you go now.”

As Iwaizumi is lifted even higher into the air, the reporter tries to scramble backwards, hissing as agony lances through his ankle. He doesn’t manage to get very far. Proton Praetor raises an eyebrow. “Moving a measly distance away isn’t going to save you.”

“No. But _that_ is.”

A dark streak strikes Proton Praetor directly from above, pounding him backwards into the asphalt. Rolling off the supervillain’s prone form, Kuroo’s grin is savage as he raises his arms in a gymnast’s salute. “Stuck the landing. You okay?”

“Gra-Knight,” Oikawa pushes himself up into a sitting position, teeth gritted. “Go check on Gra-Knight, Proton Praetor dropped him -”

“He’s injured, likely sporting a concussion.” Terrastorm, looking a little battered, approaches them, supporting Gra-Knight as if the man weighs nothing. “But he is alive.”

“Oi-kuh…” Gra-Knight’s head bobs up slightly, then droops again. Enough of the armor had been lost that the arm slung around Terrastorm’s shoulder is more human than rock. “Oi-ka-wa…”

“You guys make quite the pair.” Kuroo’s grin fades away as he looks at Terrastorm. “You can handle it from here, right? I’d rather avoid getting caught anywhere near the JSU.”

“Understood.” Terrastorm inclines his head. “Thank you, Kuroo.”

“No big. I’ll see you back at work, Oikawa.” Kuroo reaches down and squeezes Oikawa’s shoulder briefly. “On second thought, I’d better not see you back in the office for a while. If Bossman doesn’t ground you from fieldwork reporting, I will - my bike isn’t fun to ride with a bum ankle.”

Oikawa watches as the photographer slips away, silent as a shadow, before attempting once more to straighten his legs out. At the reporter’s bitten-back curse, Terrastorm sighs and taps the small communicator in his ear. “HootHoot, are you onsite yet? I need you and Psychrise to get Gra-Knight and a civilian back to base."

At that, Oikawa immediately scowls. “Fuck no. Just drop me off at a hospital, I don’t need-”

“Your ankle is twisted at best, broken at worst. Also, we cannot take the chance that you might suffer lingering effects from Proton Praetor’s telekinesis. It would be wise to have you scanned to minimize any risks.”

“Bullshit, there’s no ‘lingering effects’-”

“Oikawa.” There is a meaningful weight in Terrastorm’s voice that gives Oikawa pause. “I will deliver both you and Gra-Knight to the medical bay together. Do you understand?”

“...Is this you trying to be subtle?”

As HootHoot lands with a cheerful greeting and an announcement that ‘Psychrise is on his way’, Terrastorm shrugs. “Perhaps. Alternatively, you might simply view it as a helping hand. Either way, that ankle needs to be looked at. HootHoot, you and Psychrise take these two back to HQ - both need immediate medical attention. I’ll go aid the others in cleaning up the rest of the fight.”

Oikawa stares while Gra-Knight is efficiently transferred over to HootHoot, only rediscovering his voice when Terrastorm has lifted back into the air. “...Hey.”

He waits until the superhero turns before he coughs. “Thanks.”

Terrastorm’s smile is faint as he takes to the sky.

\---

Oikawa has never been fond of the Japanese Superhuman Union; the impromptu visit he pays their medical facilities does little to change this opinion. Sure, they tend to his leg, wrapping his fractured ankle securely and giving him a functioning pair of crutches, but Oikawa could do without the quizzical looks and probing questions. Bad enough that he had to throw about legal threats when an unfortunate staff member had attempted to confiscate his belt for ‘closer examination’ - it’s probably for the best that no one seems aware of the switchblade sewn into the hem of his right pants leg.

Still, the reporter has to admit Ushijima’s ‘helping hand’ has its merits. He doesn’t know what strings the superhero had to pull to get Oikawa into this situation, but he’s pretty sure it isn’t common protocol to allow a random civilian to sit unsupervised inside a superhero’s recovery ward.

Yet here he is, ensconced in a surprisingly comfortable armchair, ankle propped up on a small stool as he waits for Gra-Knight, _Iwaizumi_ , to wake up. If that in itself weren’t impressive enough, Oikawa’s mobile phone lies blinking in his hand, fully functional and uncompromised - how Ushijima had managed to get _that_ by the Union’s strict privacy policy is beyond even Oikawa’s imagination.

Heaving a huge sigh, he thumbs his security passcode onto the screen and presses the shortcut for the recorder application. “Reminder to self: say something nice to Ushiwaka-chan after this is all over.”

Then he tosses the mobile phone onto the small bedside table. Logically, he should make the most of this opportunity. Nevermind civilians; non-members of the Union are expressly forbidden from entering their headquarters. Before a team of nurses took over, Oikawa had been informed by a very polite Psychrise that the superhero had wiped every memory of how they got here. True enough, try as he might, the journalist truly can’t recall anything between the HootHoot carefully bearing him and Gra-Knight upwards from the rubble and their arrival in the medical bay. He is fairly certain that Psychrise will ensure he doesn’t remember how he leaves either.

However, no one has said anything about his time between arrival and departure. And in the eventuality that they might forget (one might always hope), every journalistic instinct in Oikawa’s body shrieks that this is a golden opportunity which shouldn’t be squandered. If he wants to, he could try and explore the various facilities that comprise the JSU headquarters, make notes on the interior structure of the place, perhaps even peek in on superheroes on-base at the moment.

Strange then that the only person he wanted to gather information about is sleeping quietly beneath thin blankets.

Even at first glance, the blue-black discoloration is hard to miss where it blooms along Iwaizumi’s shoulder, stretching down his torso and up his chin - Proton Praetor had intended to kill, and it shows. Oikawa doesn’t even want to guess how far down the bruising extends beneath the compression bandages. Despite the contusions and the thin IV line running into his right hand, the superhero looks peaceful, chest rising and falling at a steady rate. There are stray bits of gravel still interspersed in his hair where the medics ostensibly pulled off the headpiece of his rock shell, and stone dust coating the skin of his arms - Oikawa had swiped one delicately-light finger through it out of curiosity and found it unremarkable without a special ability wielding it defensively.

Despite the inactivity, waiting for the superhero to wake up isn’t boring, not with Oikawa’s oscillating thoughts about what to say to Iwaizumi keeping him occupied. There are so many options, so many things he wants to address, and there’s always that risk that he’ll make a mistake and say the wrong thing. In his line of work, interviews lived and died solely on opening lines; this was one conversation that’s been so long in the making, flubbing it right from the beginning is unthinkable.

So perhaps it’s a little anti-climatic when the first thing which pops out of his mouth the minute Iwaizumi stirs is, “Hey, sleepyhead.”

Iwaizumi’s forehead wrinkles, short eyelashes shading half-lidded eyes as he squints at the ceiling. It furrows in further discomfort as he turns his head stiffly on the foam pillow until he’s looking at Oikawa.

Then the crease relaxes, and the smile he bestows upon Oikawa is soft, if a little unfocused. “Hey.”

It doesn’t last though; it’s not long before a tiny frown eventually creeps back in between thick eyebrows. “Weh… how...?”

Drawing a fortifying breath, Oikawa reaches out and clasps his hands around one of Iwaizumi’s, an inexplicable clamp around his heart loosening when it isn’t withdrawn immediately. “I was going to go back to Lawson tonight, you know. Find Iwaizumi. You.”

The frown persists, medicated fuzziness sharpening into something more aware. “Oikawa…”

“I was going to tell you,” Oikawa tightens his grip on the slack fingers. “That while your interest in me is flattering, especially since you seemed like a pretty good guy, I would have to regretfully turn down your dinner invitation.”

Iwaizumi’s expression shifts into something more guarded. “Oikawa-”

“Because…the thing is...see, I already have a bit of a crush on a certain superhuman who wears rock armor and sometimes delivers mail.” Oikawa squeezes Iwaizumi’s hand gently. “That’s you, by the way, if it isn’t obvious enough.”

A pause. Then, a bewildered “...Wha?”

“Wait, crap, I forgot to check - are you concussed? Will you remember this conversation? Because I don’t think I’m strong enough to repeat this all over again-”

“No, no.” Iwaizumi struggles to sit up, then grunts in annoyance. “Can you see that panel over by…? Yeah. That one. Press the blue square button please.”

Oikawa obligingly holds down the button until the back of the bed had risen enough to prop Iwaizumi into a semi-upright position. Then the superhero looks Oikawa dead in the eye, all traces of drowsiness gone.

“Okay, run that by me again.”

Oikawa groans pitifully, hiding his face in his (and Iwaizumi’s) hands. “Please, no. I’ve tried this two times already. I don’t think my pride can handle a third.”

“You were going to…turn me down,” Iwaizumi said slowly, “Because you like superhero-me.”

“It doesn’t sound any better when you say it,” the reporter mutters.

“Oikawa. _Oikawa._ ” The hand in Oikawa’s grip twists until it could tug both itself and Oikawa’s hands back down to the bed. “Hey. Look at me.”

Cheeks hot, Oikawa peeks through his lashes at Iwaizumi, drinks in the sight of the tired but genuine smile that tugs one corner of the superhero’s lips upwards.

“You are an idiot.”

“Wow, I know I call you ‘rude’ a lot, but really? I just poured out my heart to you here, and you call me names?”

Iwaizumi’s chuckle morphs into a dry cough mid-way, and the journalist snatches at the cup of water by the bedside, holding it out until Iwaizumi’s hand is securely curled around it. Then he conscientiously supports said hand in its shaky rise until the cup is safely at Iwaizumi’s lips.

The amusement is still present in Iwaizumi’s rumble even after the cup had been returned to the bedside table. “So, you were going to reject normal-me for superhero-me. Not sure if I should feel offended or flattered.”

“Neither,” Oikawa tells him honestly. “Superhero-you only wins out because I talk to him, uh, you,  every morning. But what you did for me on my father’s memorial day, that mattered a lot to me too. Honestly, if I hadn’t known superhero-you, I would have probably asked normal-you out by now.”

“Huh.”

“Really, I would’ve! I mean, you know me: I’m not exactly shy. I would have done it in a heartbeat, given how nice you - normal-you were.”  Oikawa pulls a face. “Ugh, still wrapping my head around the fact that normal-you and superhero-you are… well, both you. It’s weird...but, a good-kind of weird, I guess? Though there is that small irritating part where you’re still a superhero, but I suppose we can’t have everything.”

“Nope.” Iwaizumi’s gaze narrows as it rests on where Oikawa’s leg is propped up. “You’re injured.”

“Fractured ankle.” Oikawa wriggles his leg slightly, careful to not aggravate said ankle. “Nothing big - I’ll be walking again in a month or so.”

“Two months.”

“Pardon?”

“Two months to walk. Trust me, I know.” Iwaizumi closes his eyes briefly, reopening them with visible effort. “Earlier. Proton said something about you and Cypher. You being his son?...”

“Oh, that.” Oikawa’s smile is thin. “Well, he wasn’t wrong. Funny, isn’t it - the son of a supervillain crushing on a superhero.”

“Doesn’t change anything.” The fading volume of Iwaizumi’s voice doesn’t hide the steel of conviction behind his words, and the thin line of Oikawa’s lips soften slightly.

“Yeah well. The old man wasn’t much of a supervillain anyway - not ambitious enough. He wouldn’t even arrange a hostile takeover of the neighbourhood, much less the world. He had an affinity with electronical devices though - could access anything so long as it was in some electronic storage.” Oikawa’s voice wavers. “I didn’t get it, the ability. Any of it, super abilities, nothing. Genetics skipped a generation, I guess. It sucked so bad. Used to dream of becoming a superhero once my powers manifested, but it just… never happened. Then I found out my dad was… yeah. He was killed in the Registration War.”

“The Registration War?” Iwaizumi’s grip on Oikawa’s hand tightens. “Wait, that was… that was the…”

“Yeah, the initial establishment of the Japanese Superhuman Union. Or the Superhuman Fallout, whichever name you want to call it by. He was the one Game Meister hired to hack the original version of the superhero databases.” The journalist stares out the window at the orange-streaked sky. “I was only fifteen when they discovered who I was; wasn’t doing that good a job living on my own. They didn’t want to risk putting me in the general foster care system in case I suddenly developed some kind of super power, so they placed me where they could monitor me. But in the end, it was an unnecessary precaution.”

Oikawa chuckles, more rueful than bitter. “Well, that’s enough about my history as a walking disappointment; you’ve been yawning so much, I’m half-inclined to feel offended.” He hesitates, then gently tugs his hand out of Iwaizumi’s grip to run it through the other man’s hair, brushing the crumbs of rock out. “Get some rest.”

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi yawns around his name, persistent even as the journalist lowers the back of the bed until it’s flat once more. “Oikawa. You’re wrong.”

“Wrong? What about?”

“Y’re not a disappointment. And earlier, in th’ fight. You said…nothing special ‘bout you. Wrong. Y’re sp’cial...” Iwaizumi’s voice peters off, lips still parted around the last word as his breaths even out into the slow rise-and-fall of sleep. Oikawa sighs, but it’s a fond sound as he leans in to press a light kiss to Iwaizumi’s forehead.

“Silly Iwa-chan,” he murmurs, even as he discreetly swipes at his eyes with the back of his other hand. “I already know that.”

\---

The knocking on the door barely gets three raps in before Oikawa calls out, “Just a minute,” reaching for his crutches to hobble his way towards the door.

The breath he is barely aware he’s holding whooshes out of him when he pulls it open to reveal Iwaizumi on the other side. The superhero’s not decked out in rock-formed knightly armor, nor the Lawson’s uniform - just a casual zip-up hoodie and jeans, with a worn bag slung around his shoulder.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” Iwaizumi’s hand rises, stops halfway before it drops back to his side. “You, uh. You weren’t at work. The temporary office space, I mean. Your workplace. I thought you might have… well, one can still move on a fractured ankle, so...”

“Suga-chan got Dai-chan to ban me from the office for a week.”

“Suga-chan?”

“Tall-ish, fair reporter, grey eyes.”Oikawa lifts a hand. “About this tall. You’ve definitely met him before, at least once or twice - he interviews all the new superhero transfers to Tokyo.”

“Oh, him. Wasn’t too pleased with me asking for your home address. He was very insistent that I’d be wasting my time. I’d be more convinced if he didn’t also try to grill me on my intentions.”

“Good ol’ Suga-chan. So how _did_ you get this address?”

“Got it from another reporter - your foster brother, actually. Ushiwaka, right? He was surprisingly helpful.” Iwaizumi’s eyes crinkle. “To be honest though, if I hadn’t gotten your apartment number, I was going to hang around at the mailboxes until you eventually came down to collect your mail.”

“Not a bad strategy, actually.” Oikawa opens the door further. “Come on in.”

“Pardon my intrusion.” Slipping off his shoes, Iwaizumi moves towards the small sofa in the living room, stopping short when he see two still-steaming coffee mugs already set out on the table before it. “Oh, were you expecting someone…?”

Oikawa leans his crutches against the back of the chair before awkwardly hopping over to sink into one end of the sofa. “You aren’t the only one who’s been waiting, Iwa-chan.”

“...Oh. How-”

“Never mind how long, that doesn’t matter. I figured you’d be confined to bedrest for a while, and I practically inhale coffee anyway. How’s the bruising?”

“Much better. There were some internal contusions around my ribs - those took a little longer to heal up, but I’ve been cleared for active superhero duty again.” The couch sags beneath Iwaizumi’s weight, causing Oikawa to tip towards the other man, bumping into his side. “Lawson wasn’t so forgiving though - got an earful from my supervisor.”

“Mmm, I heard Family Mart pays better.” Iwaizumi’s side is firm where Oikawa is pressed against it; a moment of deliberation, then the brunet drops his head until it’s resting against the other man’s as well.

Iwaizumi’s chuckle is a steady rumble that travels up Oikawa’s arm. “Yeah, well. I’ve gotten oddly attached to that place.”

“The oden _is_ pretty decent.”

A snort. “Hardly. But customers who don’t eat proper meals wouldn’t really know the difference.”

“Rude.”

“Not when it’s the truth.” The conversation lapses then, petering into comfortable silence beneath the discreet hum of the fan. It’s one of the balmier days this summer, the heat kept out by the blinds over the windows. Ankle propped up on cushions, body propped against Iwaizumi, an indulgent lethargy steals over Oikawa. He could drift into sleep just like this. Safe. Warm. Protected.

Then,  “When I woke up next, you were gone.”

“Mmm? Oh.” Oikawa languidly pushes himself back into a proper sitting position, before reaching out and snagging one of the coffee mugs. Beside him, Iwaizumi does the same. “Terrastorm said I couldn’t stay too long at the base. JSU could be accused of breaching the agreement they have with the government to keep civilians out of the area for safety.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Iwaizumi’s eyebrows rise. “And you left without a fuss?”

“I owed him one.” Oikawa blows on the surface of his coffee before taking a small sip. “Plus, I figured I’d give you some time to think things over.”

“So you’re really okay with the dual-life, secret-identity thing?”

“Please, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa rolls his eyes. “You’re not actually dumb. Did you miss my whole spiel about my father?”

“Right.” Iwaizumi puts down his coffee mug to rummage through the knapsack in his lap. “Here.”

The reporter blinks at the small envelope thrusted out at him before transferring the bemused look over to Iwaizumi’s face. “I thought you gave up the postal service.”

“Special mail route.” Iwaizumi’s face is impressively straight. Oikawa can’t suppress a snicker as he replaces his mug on its coaster and takes the letter, carelessly tearing the paper flap open.

It doesn’t take long to read the few words scribbled on the thin sheet of paper. Still, it is a while before his hands drop into his lap, fingers crumpling the letter’s edges as wide brown eyes search Iwaizumi’s own green ones. The superhero meets Oikawa’s gaze head-on, one hand curled loosely around a denim-clad knee.

“If you’d like, I can ask one more time. Third time’s the charm, so I’ve heard. Plus,” Iwaizumi’s grin is crooked. “The donburi place _is_ really good.”

Oikawa leans in to catch that lopsided smile with his own, paper crinkling where his hand presses itself over Iwaizumi’s larger one. If they topple backwards against the armrest, only the ceiling fan and the potted plant over by the open windowsill will ever know, and neither will divulge the quietly happy moment to the world beyond the apartment.

_\---_

_Three months after:_

“So, now that you’ve fought side by side with the Iron Wall, how would you rate his strength out of ten? In general, I mean, not counting his Pillar Punch.”

“Tooru.”

“Oh, and in terms of his armored skin - it’s not the same as yours, right? From what I’ve seen, his skin actually turns to steel-”

“Tooru.”

“I wonder if that compromises his civilian identity though. I mean, it doesn’t really change his appearance, does it, turning into metal? And his costume is so minimal, very 90s-looking. I should try running photos of him through our image databases, see if that generates any hits.”

“Tooru, I swear I will _kick_ you out of bed.”

“I need the information!” Oikawa pouts, snuggling closer until he feels Iwaizumi’s arms close around him again. “Sawamura’s been riding my ass about a comprehensive introduction of the new Date Kou superheroes. Well, not literally ‘riding my ass’, since that’s you-”

The protest abruptly morphs into ticklish squeals and squirming as Iwaizumi pinches his side lightly, then runs sly fingers along the skin there. “You are a pest.”

“I’m _your_ pest though.” It’s hard not to be smug when Iwaizumi groans, half-muffled by brunet hair, and Oikawa revels in the satisfaction that still blooms warmly through him.

Keeping their relationship under wraps had been a challenge, is still a challenge given the nature of both their jobs. Both of them are well aware of the possible risks involved - as his boyfriend, Oikawa is highly tempting, all-too-convenient leverage against Gra-Knight. Psychrise is adamant that he had effectively wiped those few minutes of Proton Praetor’s memory, but neither of them are naive enough to consider the problem completely solved. Rather, with the recent news that the supervillain’s somehow managed to escape maximum security prison, one could even argue the problem is compounded.

None of Oikawa’s colleagues know his boyfriend as anyone other than Iwaizumi Hajime, the cashier who works at the Lawson’s closest to Oikawa’s apartment. There had been times in the beginning when Sugawara had looked askance at his friend, clearly confused as to how Oikawa had gotten over his crush on Gra-Knight so cleanly. It had taken a few beers, a bowl of kaki-pi and some prevarication on Oikawa’s part before the fair-haired reporter accepted that Oikawa was content with how that affair had ended, and that he and Gra-Knight were on talking terms again because “we’re both adults, Suga-chan”.

Kuroo still watches the pair when they hang out together, dark eyes knowing. But he has too many of his own secrets to bother about prying into others.

Then there are the dangers that come prepackaged with the mantle of a registered superhero. The first month into their relationship, Oikawa had been overly paranoid about every fight Gra-Knight was involved in, turning up at every incident the rock-armor superhero was summoned to.

“I can’t lose you!” he had screamed at Iwaizumi when the arguments had finally came to an ugly head. “Not like my father!”

“I’m _not_ your father!”

“I know!” The shrillness cracked into a sob. “ _I know_.”

“Tooru, look at me. Tooru.” Hands cup Oikawa’s face, thumbs stroking across tear-streaked cheeks. “I get it, okay. I get it. How do you think I feel everytime _I_ see you out there, huh? You’re not supposed to even be there - you’re not powered-”

“It’s my _job_ -”

“To report the news, yeah, I get it. I do, But if you’re worried about me with my protective shell…” Iwaizumi’s exhale is a raw sound, squeezed out from a constricted throat . “You’re not the only one with someone to lose, Tooru.”

Tonight though, the perils of Iwaizumi’s job plague neither of their minds. Oikawa wriggles closer to his boyfriend, pressing his toes against Iwaizumi’s ankles even as he avoids the recovering slash running up the back of the superhero’s right calf. “Were you jealous of me talking up Iron Wall?”

A long-suffering sigh tickles the tip of his ear.  “Should I be?”

“No.”

“Then no, I wasn’t jealous.”

“...Maybe a wee bit jealous?”

“You’re ridiculous.” Iwaizumi presses soft lips to Oikawa’s bare shoulder in playful rebuke. “No more jealousy talk. And definitely no more work talk.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll save it for tomorrow.”

“Oh, but before that: stop bullying Shadow Ace. No, don’t move - you don’t need to give me those puppy eyes; you know I read everything you write. Like that report on the reconstruction of Tokyo Medical University Hospital’s physical rehabilitation wing - the kid was only late by five minutes, for crying out loud. Hell, _I’ve_ been late before.”

“Not to community service.”

“Yeah well, I doubt he was ‘intentionally disregarding the importance of helping rebuilding efforts’. Really, Tooru?”

Oikawa sniffs. “He’s a brat.”

“He’s young.” Iwaizumi noses at Oikawa’s ear, inciting a small whimper from him. “And he’s new. Cut him some slack - you’re supposed to be impartial anyway.”

“You’re cheating.” Oikawa’s accusation hitches as Iwaizumi’s lips brush over the sensitive curve, followed by the faintest graze of teeth.

“I know.” There’s a smile gilding the words, and the reporter’s scowl wavers before rearranging itself into a petulant frown.

“...he better not be late again.”

“He won’t - kid pretty much beat himself up over it after your article got published. Turns up fifteen minutes early for all his community service duties now. Which is good, but just… don’t be _too_ mean to him. The JSU doesn’t need him overstraining himself trying to get stronger because you labeled him ‘weak’ or something.”

“Huh, that’s a thought.”

“ _Don’t._ He actually likes reading your stuff, believe it or not. Saw him practically devouring your column in the HQ cafeteria the other day - bit masochistic of him, but eh. I don’t suppose I could persuade you to sign a copy of Asahi Shimbun for him?”

“For the brat? Better be a really convincing argument.”

“I can think of a few good points.” There’s enticing promise in Iwaizumi’s voice, and Oikawa pulls back to meet laughing green eyes. They flutter close as Oikawa presses kisses to each eyelid, then teasingly bops his boyfriend’s nose.

He’s grown a little fonder of superheroes of late.  Sure, they’re still occasionally a nuisance, and some of them are sanctimonious pricks who think themselves above the average human. And nothing will ever make up for the role they played in his father’s death.

“You’re lucky I like you enough to even consider it.” _I love you, Iwaizumi Hajime._

“I know.” _I love you too, Oikawa Tooru._

But, as he moves in to kiss Iwaizumi properly, perhaps not all of them are that bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Some quick notes:
> 
> Iwaizumi's superhero name went through several revisions! It was Ishikara for the longest time, but I finally settled on Gra-Knight (which is a pun on 'granite' and references Iwaizumi's character in Final Haikyuu Quest!)
> 
> Terrastorm, or Ushijima, is a salute to Superman. He has the power to manipulate earth.
> 
> Kuroo's superhero name used to be Maneki, and his superpower is a combo of a regenerative healing factor and a sixth sense for danger (a 'spidey sense', so to speak). He quit being a superhero after it became mandatory for all active superheroes to register with the JSU.
> 
> Oikawa knows Kuroo used to be a superhero, and that Ushijima is Terraform. Aside from Gra-Knight by the end of the story, these are the only two superhero secret-identities he knows.
> 
> HootHoot is obviously Bokuto, and his monstrous strength is augmented by the intensity of his emotions. He doesn't possess wings, but can fly.
> 
> Psychrise is Akaashi. While he can wipe memories (up to about 15 minutes; he can't manipulate them), his main power is as an empath, with the ability to augment/reduce a person's emotions. He constantly accompanies HootHoot, as assigned by the JSU. There is a story in my mind for Bokuaka, but whether it will be written or not is another story altogether.
> 
> Tsuzume is Yuki Shirofuku, but I didn't expand on her much. She has four wings growing out of her back, and can shoot off stingers that cause temporary paralysis. Inukoh is Kyoutani. Ronin Thunder is Nishinoya.
> 
> Sunspikes is Hinata, Shadow Ace is Kageyama. Metalhead is Yamamoto.
> 
> This fic covers the standard Japanese superbaddies, including kaiju (Rodan, Ghidorah), giant mecha robots (Blasteroid) and youkai (Kabuki-no-Oyama). The superheroes are a little more Marvel-influenced, hence the names. (I need better naming sense, I swear.)
> 
> The various places mentioned in this fic are all actual Tokyo locations. (Go go, Google maps!) Asahi Shimbun is a well-established Japanese newspaper as well.
> 
> Lawson's oden is actually really good - most Japanese konbini food offerings are delicious! Admittedly, I'm biased but still.
> 
> 'Wander and the Colossus' is the Japanese title for [Shadow of the Colossus](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shadow_of_the_Colossus).
> 
> Higanbana, or spider lilies, mean 'loss, abandonment, and lost memories'.  
> \---
> 
> Happy #Iwaoiexchange once again, Mona - I hope you enjoyed reading this!
> 
> Kudos and constructive comments are always greatly appreciated! It's always awesome to read what you guys liked about my stuff in general. ♡✧( ु•⌄• ) 
> 
> A big hats-off to [Enzen](http://wataksampingan.tumblr.com) who is seriously The Best Beta (TM). 
> 
> I'm on Tumblr [here](http://hweiro.tumblr.com)!


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